


Where We Are Now

by Silvarbelle



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, chack is the bomb yo, i made a few changes from the original posting, i miss writing in the xiaolin showdown sandbox, not that it happens in this part, that's the change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:25:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvarbelle/pseuds/Silvarbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The remnants of Free Humans are gathered together fifteen years after the events of “Time After Time.” They are attempting to survive while plotting to overthrow Hannibal Roy Bean and reclaim Earth in the name of Humanity. One man in particular is focused on only one thing: Freeing Chase Young from Bean’s prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where We Are Now

**Author's Note:**

> Because of dual authorship [read the author’s notes] this story was deliberately written in an odd mix of first and second person. Again: It was done on purpose; it is not a typo.

These days, the sky is dark red most of the time. It's all pollution, confusion, dark Heylin magic. Wuya's Palace... _Hannibal's palace, now though. The witch is long locked away, far in the dark_... Is rooted right at the jagged edge of the horizon. The dungeons are full of people, old warriors, old monsters. The lowest cell is for the worst monsters of all.  
  
Chase Young, and an army of cats and crows (even wolves, his warriors from farthest west) all crowd the cell. It's wide enough to be a hall, and covered in the thick branches of a Heylin briar, all vines and thorns that bind up the jungle cats, pierce them and freeze them, keep them deep asleep and spread across the floor. Chase himself hangs at the back of the room, bound, bleeding, undying as he's almost always been, and asleep with the rest of his warriors...  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
Not terribly far away, a silent figure crouched among dark shadows; his eyes trained on the Castle of Monsters. The bright yellow goggles of his younger years were long gone – too bright, they would attract too much attention. He had traded them in for what he called "Field Specs"; dark green and black, with micro-machinery that enhanced his vision in all sorts of environments, or simply acted as binoculars when necessary.  
  
The long, flashy goth coat was gone, too. These days, vanity had no place in the day-to-day guerilla warfare he engaged in. His clothes – once simple cotton or leather or even polyester hybrids – were made of a black mesh fabric that was thin as a sheet of paper, but tough enough to stop a shell from a tank. Black, through and through, to cover up the utter whiteness of his skin, he was covered from neck to toe... and usually had a black skullcap on as well, to better hide his short, vibrant red-orange hair.  
  
But, Jack Spicer had always taken a macabre sort of pride in his unique features, and he covered them as little as possible.  
  
When the warmth of another body settled beside him, Jack froze, but didn't otherwise acknowledge the possibility of danger. If it were a trick, he wasn’t going to be flushed out of his hiding spot.  
  
Not until he felt the signal tap from the other person did he turn his head to see Raimundo, similarly dressed in black, staring at him with weary resolve.  
  
 _What new?_ Raimundo signed silently to Jack.  
  
 _No. Quiet still. Patrol not found gear, operatives,_ Jack signed back. Long ago, the Resistance had decided that sign language was a nifty idea, but it had to be shortened up considerably. Field operatives couldn't take several minutes to sign out a few dozen words when their lives depended on brevity and speed.  
  
 _Good. Move soon; Kim, you, me,_ Rai signed back. He paused, and then added, _We get him out; one way or other._  
  
Jack nodded and turned back to his watching of the mountain. Somewhere by the base of it, Omi was keeping a lookout from his position; to better protect Clay and Jermaine, who had spent five grueling, nerve-wracking days tunneling through the mountain using the carving-lasers he had designed a long, long time ago.  
  
The original plan had been to carve a path straight up into the cell holding Chase, and then run like buggery after tearing him free of the Heylin thorns holding him. However, the spy inside the castle had passed along the information that the very act of breaking the plant-life would sound an alarm, which had forced the Resistance to back-pedal and do some hard thinking.  
  
Then, the Serpent's Tail had been found and delivered into the hands of the Resistance Leader, and a variation-plan had been hatched by Jack on the spot.  
  
The time was getting close when the digging would stop and the small band of fighters would break into the cell holding Chase Young.  
  
The greatest warrior the world had ever known would once again be in the fight.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
There's a kind of hum that comes from the castle. It's low-low, just a subtle vibration in the hard rock and the air. Omi can feel it like an ache in his teeth, and the small bones of his fingers. He shakes his head and tries to ignore it, tries to hold completely still on the bare boulder on which he is perched. He's scouting around the castle, keeping watch as the last labors are done on the tunnel.  
  
It was hard for Omi to give up the orange robes of a monk. He was raised, after all, within a tradition that had made them and worn them for thousands of years. He was raised to be proud of them. But really, as Jack had pointed out at the beginning, bright orange was like wearing a big neon sign that said "Come and get me, Hannibal!” So Omi was in black like everyone else; gold-ish skin covered in soot and black rags tied up around the seven star birthmark on his forehead.  
  
There is a scraping sound, and Omi looks up sharply. Jermaine emerged out of the dark maw of the tunnel they've been carving at for so long. _Oh, my friend,_ Omi thinks that every time he sees Jermaine, lately. The man has a map of crisscrossed scars, a wild look to him, and dangerousness that had never been around when they were just children. But still, the same easy grin, the same calm, street-smart eyes.  
  
 _Hey, Omi dawg,_ he signs briefly.  
  
Omi bows back, greeting, then watches as Jermaine makes more hasty signs _Another cave-in, small, should be able to get through._ Then, excitedly: _Nearly finished. Almost there. Few more meters... Get the others._  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
Jack felt his muscles go tense with alertness and excitement at the sight of Omi. The presence of the small monk could only mean one thing. _Work done?_  
  
 _Work done,_ signed Omi. _Others come. We go now before patrol comes._  
  
 _Be there soon,_ Jack signed back, and he left his hiding place at long last and skittered across the dark countryside for nearly a half-mile until he arrived at the small camp the others had set up.  
  
When Raimundo and Kimiko saw him, they got to their feet and immediately reached for their packs.  
  
 _Omi says go,_ Jack signed anyway. _Hurry._  
  
Turning, he led the way back. He heard nothing behind him, but then, he didn't expect to. All of them walked without making a sound nowadays. True, Rai and Kim had learned long before he had, but now, he moved as silently as they did. He still felt a skirl of pride at the having mastered the skill – he just hated the reason for it.  
  
Soon enough, the three of them met Omi and Jermaine by the base of the mountain castle.  
  
 _Clay still in, listening; we go when rea—_ Omi began, but was cut off as Jack impatiently brushed past him.  
  
The others watched him disappear into the dark hole; heard the soft-soft clatter of rock pebbles in the tunnel, and then looked at each other.  
  
 _He wait long time for this,_ signed Kimiko with a sigh.  
  
 _Still don't get it,_ Jermaine signed back, but shrugged.  
  
 _Nothing to get; we go,_ signed Raimundo, and the four of them moved into the tunnel to join their teammates.  
  
It was a long, winding trek through utter darkness. The laser-carved rock was smooth as glass beneath their hands and feet; forcing them to move carefully. Soon, however, they were all grouped together at the top of the tunnel, where Clay had carved a circular ledge for them to rest on.  
  
Completely dark as it was, they all put on their field specs and switched the goggles to thermal-vision. The red-orange glow of body heat – muted by the fabric they wore – came to their eyes, outlining each other's position.  
  
Jack held his hands out to the side, away from himself, so his fingers could be clearly outlined. _We ready?_  
  
The others copied his motion and offered simply a thumbs’ up.  
  
Sighing quietly, trying to contain his shivering nerves, Jack reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out the Serpent's Tail.  
  
They had practiced, long and hard, to be able to activate the shen-gong-wu simultaneously without saying a word. So, now, he held out the Serpent's Tail and felt the other five take hold.  
  
He held up his left hand and counted down from three. On the final finger fall, he thought fiercely, _Serpent's Tail!_ and trusted his teammates to do the same. With that, he shoved upwards with his legs and felt himself rising up through the rock above him to emerge – with the rest of his teammates – in the middle of a cavernous cell full of vicious Heylin plant-life.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
It's dark, dark within this stony room, but the thermal vision gives outline to nearly a hundred feline, avian and a few lupine forms all twisted and cocooned within the thick thorny vines. They don't wake, though a few of the older ones stir. A crow bats her one free wing. They are aware of the monks and Jack and Jermaine, but only as a vague presence filtering into the backdrop of their dreams.  
  
It hurts to see those animals all under this evil sleep, all bloody from wounds that aren't allowed to heal. The room is huge. Dark, dark. And as they start moving, they realize that it's very difficult to find footing among the thorns.  
  
Jack, in the lead, held his arms up slowly. He didn't want to create any unnecessary air currents that might be interpreted as an escape attempt by the vines. When he felt he had his teammates' attention, he slowly pivoted one arm behind himself – that hand holding the Serpent's Tail. A few moments later, he felt them all take hold, and held up his free hand, counted to three again, and once they had become immaterial, he used all his willpower to forge the way through the thick plant life towards the one humanoid shape hanging limply against a nearby wall.  
  
Jack's heart hurt to see the once proud Chase reduced to this bleeding, sleeping husk. Any other time, he’d have been on the verge of a heart attack with delirious, greedy joy at the sight of Chase’s naked body. But not now – not like this. The man had become gaunt through the years of enforced sleep. True, the thorns pushed nutrients into his system, like a hospital IV would, but nothing could be done about the lack of exercise and real food.  
  
He slowly pulled his five teammates into a clear spot on the floor and they let go of the Serpent's Tail as soon as they were clear. He glanced at the others; Clay, Raimundo, and Jermaine moved into position beneath the sleeping warrior, while Omi and Kimiko moved to guard their backs; on the lookout for possible attack.  
  
When the three waiting men nodded to Jack, he nodded back and then reached a cautious hand towards the sleeping warlord.  
  
Only to withdraw his hand quickly when a thorny vine slithered out from behind Chase; sensing Jack's approach.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
The dreams of the Briar are as dark as the vines, as sharp as the thorns. They shift, they turn, they sap life away. Chase is entombed here, buried in the darkest part of himself as well as the castle.  
  
There are fragments of old memories – a sickness. Burying his younger sisters, his mother; kneeling with Dashi in front of the unmarked graves they'd had to make for them. Memories of stormy China skies; skies so long ago and far away they were lost to the world forever now. Stormy China seas. A fishing boat at night. A girl he'd loved, a boy he'd loved, a shining brother. And a thousand different beloved places that no longer existed.  
  
And the nightmares told him just that: _These things are gone; you're all that's left._  
  
They break up, though. Even under this enchantment, even hurt as he is, Chase is still strong. He pushes his mind out through the fracture in the spell and feels it when the vines shift to lash out at Jack. Chase's head lifts just slightly, his eyes crack open to slivers. They’re yellow… dragon-yellow, wild and fiercely sad and exhausted – there is no recognition in them. No real thought. When he tenses and snarls low, old Chinese curses, the small movement draws more blood.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
Jack had to forcibly check himself; tighten his jaw against the instinctive cry of Chase's name that wanted out. He tightened so hard, he could feel his teeth grinding; ratcheting dull, throbbing pain up into his gums. That wasn't important, however – what was, was the fact that the vines guarding Chase seemed extra vigilant, and were yet another obstacle for them to overcome.  
  
He slowly turned. A moment later, all five of his teammates were looking at his hands, held out to the side, as he asked, _Alert vines; sense us near. Will sound alarm when Chase taken. What do?_  
  
No one moved for several seconds. Finally, Rai's hands lifted over his head. _Take Chase anyway. Grab and run._  
  
 _What about others?_ Kimiko asked, and gestured at the sleeping animals.  
  
 _No time,_ signed Clay. _One SGW; three dozen them. We grab Chase; go._  
  
 _Leave them here?_ questioned Omi.  
  
 _Yes,_ signed everyone except Kimiko.  
  
Rai nodded his head towards Jack. _Get him. We catch him – we hold you – you phase all._  
  
 _When I touch, you count,_ Jack said, and turned back around to face Chase.  
  
He felt the heat of them as they all crowded up behind him. He hated it; hated feeling bodies packed so closely against him, so close to his back. It left him with a twitchy, vulnerable feeling that made his skin crawl with the need to put his back to a wall and keep himself safe. He endured it because he needed them to catch Chase.  
  
Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He flexed his hand and then lashed out, grabbing onto Chase's bare ankle with a ferocity and speed that surprised even him. As soon as he touched Chase, thorny vines whipped out and lashed around his wrist and arm, gouging deep. At the same time, he felt three hard taps against his shoulder and invoked the Serpent's Tail while yanking hard on the man tethered to the wall.  
  
Chase floated free and fell into the arms of the waiting group behind Jack.  
  
All around them, the vines had started up a shrieking, hissing noise as they thrashed and undulated about the hall. Several of the sleeping animal-warriors had new wounds shredded open as the vines slithered over them possessively.  
  
"No use in stealth now," rasped Raimundo. "Leap for the exit. Jack, phase us through!"  
  
They all crouched down together, everyone catching hold of Jack somehow, and then leaped forward as the vines, triangulating their position, began streaking for them.  
  
Just before they hit the rock floor, Jack called out, "Serpent's Tail!" and they all vanished through the floor into the tunnel.  
  
They landed with a hard thud at the bottom of the vertical shaft that had fed them up to the cell floor. Groaning, grunting, they untangled themselves even as they heard the Heylin vines begin cracking and tearing through the rock over head.  
  
"Run for it!" bellowed Clay.  
  
No one needed to be told twice.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
Tearing through. They could actually hear the vines _tearing_ through the solid rock high above them. All of them take off at a run, staying together, keeping their steps as matched as they can. Jermaine, Clay, Rai and Jack have Chase between them. The walls are creaking. The buttresses are bending and breaking all along the tunnel, in front of them as well as behind. And the air is full of a fine dust that's being shaken down from the ceiling.  
  
That hum, the noise the castle makes, is everywhere now. It's growing. There are howls echoing in from behind them as well as the roaring, scraping sound that the plants are making. Omi coughs and chokes as he runs, stumbling now as the smooth floor beneath them begins to crack and bow upward.  
  
The light at the mouth of the tunnel opens up – a dot far from them all. Clay has hung slightly back from the group, trying to control his element, but the rock in this place is bewitched and won't listen well. Still, it's something. They all break into the light, rip goggles free and dodge away from the mouth of the tunnel just as it gives a dull roaring moan, and caves in completely.  
  
The renegade warriors collapse in a heap, coughing dust and debris from their mouths and throats. They know they can't tarry long; the Hounds will be upon them soon. They have only this one chance to escape – they will not get another.  
  
Just as they are struggling up onto their feet, a new problem presents itself: Chase Young's eyes snap open and his lips pull back to bare his sharp teeth. He jerks back, trying to get away from them, and a low and hellish growl starts up deep in his chest. It builds, becoming almost a yowl – a sound of terrible fury and gut-wrenching despair; a torrent of brutal noise that makes them all ill to hear.  
  
Jack shuddered wildly at the grim sight and sound. But he would not be deterred. He had been struggling for this moment since the day Chase had fallen on the field of battle and had been taken into the Castle of Monsters.  
  
With adrenaline-fueled strength, he hauled Chase up from the ground and draped him over his shoulder. Chase did not go quietly. He thrashed and struggled instinctively, still lashing out and groaning fiercely, though the sounds were now strained; compressed as his diaphragm was against Jack's shoulder-blade.  
  
Jack snarled wordlessly and took off running for the high-speed vehicles stashed back at the camp. The others fell in around him, prepared to ward off any attacks that came their way: The monks with their Wudai powers; Jermaine with the laser blaster that was his secondary weapon other than himself.  
  
The Hounds were behind them, now. They could hear the hellacious baying from a dozen or so human throats. Men and women who had been perverted by Hannibal Bean into wild, psychotic beasts that were his designated hunter/killers. Depending on how badly Bean wanted Chase back, the Hounds might kill them all out on the plain or savage them before dragging the carcasses back to their lord and master.  
  
Jermaine's hand tightened on his blaster. He would see to it that his friends didn't have to face those cutting teeth and claws should the murderous pack catch up to them.  
  
He knew all too well what the Hounds were capable of.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
Though he's grown with the rest of his friends, Omi is still built small. He has to really fly along the ground to keep up with everyone else, though with those Hounds behind them it's not like he needs any more of a reason to go fast. They reach the camp and scramble together into the vehicles that were left there – Jack's creations, all-terrain and sleek black. Rai, Kimiko, Clay and Jermaine all get into the first one and the shield locks them in, and the engine starts.  
  
Omi leaps into the second waiting machine with Jack and Chase, who's only murmuring now, so soft and low and full of sorrow that even though it's quiet it still hurts to hear. Jack's face is grim, a mask without emotion, and he gets behind the wheel and starts the engine. Jack's an excellent driver. He was even when they were all just children, even when his machines were built for such non-dangerous things as exploration and searching for Shen-Gong-Wu.  
  
Omi settles in the seat behind. He takes Chase's limp form and drags it back beside him, mostly trying to get it out of Jack's way. "Chase Young?" he asks, but there is no real reply – only murmurs, roving yellow eyes, shaky breathing.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
Jack wanted to snarl at Omi for touching _his_ Chase. He wanted to backhand the little yellow wretch from the shaking, sweating, moaning man who was finally outside of the Castle of Monsters for the first time in nearly fifteen years.  
  
But, he couldn’t.  
  
He had one job to do now and to do it well: Get them the fuck _outta there_.  
  
The shield was in place; the armor was holding; the power packs were revved up as Jack threw the ATV into gear, stomped on the pedal, and went scooting across the rocky terrain with a shuddering, sliding jolt.  
  
The tires spun and for a frantic, heart-stopping moment, Jack thought they weren't going to make it.  
  
But the tires caught and they went zooming ahead, side-by-side with Clay, Rai, Jermaine, and Kimiko.  
  
When the first thump sounded on the plexiglass above them, Jack didn't bother to look up. The shield had taken tougher things than a Hound or three.  
  
When the creature slid down to stare at him, nearly face to face, eyes wild and mouth slobbering, Jack gave it The Finger, lifting the hand that had been ripped and torn into by the vines that had guarded Chase, and was now coated in slick dark blood. He drove faster, faster, faster before slamming on the brakes suddenly.  
  
The Hound – and its two companions clinging to the ATV – went flying off at the unexpected maneuver and hit the ground hard.  
  
Jack took a great deal of gruesome joy in driving forward over them, feeling their bodies crunch beneath the armored vehicle.  
  
He glanced over and saw that the monks and Jermaine had done the same thing with their own unwanted company.  
  
Both vehicular groups realized they were, for the moment, free of Hounds, and floored it, roaring off into the distance.  
  
And by some unknown miracle—  
  
They escaped.  
  
  
*~*~*~*

 

 

When they were no longer being followed, the drive formed a structure. They didn't slow down, but they stopped making wild turns. Jack took them across the dry desert, side-by-side with the vehicle that was being driven by Jermaine. It was hours across the sand, silent and watchful, and then into the deep forest. It was the Forest of Neither Here Nor There, the old forest where the old things lived, one of the only remaining places on the _Earth_ that had not yet been corrupted.  
  
Maybe Hannibal couldn't enter it, just yet. Maybe he wasn't strong enough. The Forest was too old to really be good or evil, but it was certainly somewhat alive. And it protected itself from threats like Hannibal Bean.  
  
The vehicles go in over the logs, the rocks and slopes and hills. They were _made_ to go over this impossible terrain, to duck in and out of the ground through a series of hidden tunnels. Until finally, they get to the end of the route and the engines go off.  
  
Raimundo is the first to get out, to look around. His smile is a little ragged, a little weary, but totally genuine. “Home,” he says.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
It was all black for a long time. Kaleidoscope black though. Black that was full of snaking dream colors, faraway sounds and half familiar faces. Chase wades in and out of it. This is the first time in fifteen years that sleep has brought him anywhere close to finding rest, but it's still just not enough. It feels like a part of him, some dream part, is trapped under the dark; snagged up in the thorns. Maybe a part of him really is. The sliver of the soul he sold, lost and gone forever.  
  
Days pass. Long nights, too. Then, finally, the fever breaks. It's at the beginning of the night, during one of the oh-too-frequent thunderstorms that tend to strike the forest. Chase Young frowns, and his gold eyes flick open.  
  
At first, it's just raw senses. The smell of living trees, of rain. The cold air. He's aware of all the lacerations that have been bandaged and re-bandaged; the thorn-cuts all over his body. Actually awake after fifteen years, alive again after fifteen years, he takes a deep breath.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
When Jack opened the door to Chase's solitary infirmary room, he checked on the threshold to see the gold eyes awake, aware, and looking at him with a cold viciousness that did not bode well.  
  
"Chase," he said quietly. "How do you—? I mean... good to see you again."  
  
Red hair and white skin... it takes Chase a moment to even remember that, yes, that is familiar to him. But as he wrestles to grasp at shattered memories, memories that are still being overlapped by so many long years of cruel dreaming, he cannot place any familiarity with the young man who comes into the room. He remembers a _boy_. A clever idiot of a boy, yes, but not this stranger. Still— "Spicer," he growls, low and raspy; because he _does_ know who this is.  
  
Jack smiled reflexively, his heart beating hard with relief and excitement and a bit of fear. "Yeah. Yeah, Chase, it's me – Jack Spicer."  
  
He walked forward, carrying a tray loaded with an IV canister filled with a strange, clear green liquid. Also on the tray were a fresh pile of bandages and cloths, as well as ointment and other salves.  
  
"It's good to see you awake. It's been a few days since we got you out of the castle," he said, trying to hide his nervousness. "Um... me, the monks, and Jermaine formed a strike team to raid the cell you were in to get you out."  
  
Chase's lips curl back, his eyes narrow. For just a moment, he looks more animal than man. The old dragon light flashes in his eyes in a brief, but vicious expression. It's an instinctive response – something he doesn't even think about. He doesn't want anyone near him, anyone touching him, not while he still feels sick and angry and sad like this. It's gone just as quickly as it appeared though; replaced by the cold, calm expression from before. And he does nothing as Jack steps up to the side of the bed.  
  
Jack paused after reaching the bedside. He wanted desperately to throw his arms around Chase's neck; to weep and wail and declare how much he had missed the warlord and how glad he was to have him back. He wanted to bawl; to demand that Chase get better and then get back on his feet and take the world back from Hannibal and put everything back the way it was.  
  
But Jack could see for himself that Niu Lang had been right when he'd counseled Jack to take it slow and not rush into anything. Niu had said that Chase would be ready to lash out at anyone and anything upon reorienting himself in the waking world; that the best thing Jack could do would be to remain patient; to be straightforward with Chase and to let _him_ decide when and how he would be touched.  
  
Jack sighed and set down the tray on the spartan bedside table, and then turned to face Chase directly. He noted, with a tiny wince, how the man watched him with a wariness he had never before expressed in Spicer's presence.  
  
"Alright, Chase, here's the deal: You're bruised, banged up, and battered around. You've been hooked up to a magical IV for fifteen years that's fed your immortality juice to you while you were asleep. This—“ Jack reached out to pick up the canister "—is _our_ version of that happy joy juice. This is your potion – distilled and refined into an IV drip. Later, it can be loaded into a special hypo-spray. You won't have to drink it ever again, but it'll still work the same. I have to change this one out for the one that's nearly empty."  
  
Chase never moved, never spoke, but Jack knew he was taking in every word.  
  
"The rest of this is dressing for your wounds. The Heylin thorns tore you up pretty bad, and they're infected. The salves are made by the monks, so they're boosted by Xiaolin healing magic. Up until now, you haven't been awake to say yea or nay, but since you're awake now... will you let me change your bandages? I won't touch you except to do that; nothing more, nothing less."  
  
At first there was no real response. Only that ice in the gold eyed glare, covered over by a mingling exhaustion and consideration. It was a look Jack hadn't seen since his boyhood – it was Chase measuring him up; looking right through him to see what he was made of, and deciding his worth.  
  
After a long, long pause the warlord shut his eyes and his dark brows knitted together. He turned his face away from Jack. "Do as you will."  
  
Jack blinked and looked away quickly, lest he allow his emotions – always vibrant and close to the surface – to show on his face or spill from his eyes.  
  
"I wouldn't do this if it weren't necessary, Chase," he said quietly. "I'll start with your IV first."  
  
Chase didn't move, and so Jack changed out the IV canisters. He checked the connection from the canister to the hose, and then bent over to check the connection that went into Chase's arm at the elbow. He never touched, but he looked closely. Nodding, satisfied, he then said, "I have to do your bandages now. I'll try to make it as quick and painless as possible."  
  
"Feh." Chase only makes a small, irritated noise. He doesn't move or open his eyes for a few long moments, then finally lets out a slow breath and pulls himself into a sitting position. It isn't easy. The movement makes fresh blood seep from the deep cuts across his stomach and back. He ignores it and lets his head drop back against the back of the bed, then closes his eyes again.  
  
Neither of them move at first; then, Jack goes forward at last and starts with Chase's right arm. The used bandages pull away sticky and stiff. Chase is frowning, but not resisting. Jack's touches are quick and accurate, though by the time he's finished both arms and lifted the covers away to start on his legs, Chase is aware of the very slight, very subtle shaking of the boy's hands. And there's something about that shaky motion that rekindles some kind of... something, inside him. Some little faded out emotion or memory.  
  
"Fifteen years?" he asks at last, very quiet; voice husky from disuse.  
  
Jack looks up from his task of slowly peeling the bandages from the wound that traces the length of Chase's right shin. It's a deep scratch; the skin around it is angry red with infection and the edges of the wound have gone crispy and slightly curled. The inside of the wound is filled, as usual, with a yellow-green ichor that turns Jack's stomach to see it. But, as he pulls the bandage away, some of the ichor pulls away, too, and fresh blood seeps free; bright red and running freely.  
  
Strangely enough, it cheers him up. The medical staff had said that when the wounds began bleeding freely, it meant the infection was clearing away.  
  
However, Jack needed to answer Chase's question.  
  
"Fifteen years," he said quietly. "Well... to be more precise: Fourteen years, seven months, and twenty-three days."  
  
A rough sigh from Chase told Jack that this was not exactly what he wanted to know, so the albino man hastened to clarify.  
  
"You... you and your warriors went to battle against Hannibal and his forces out in the Land of Nowhere, fourteen years ago. Hannibal... he waited for the Heylin Eclipse. It weakened you and consequently your warriors. Hannibal... overwhelmed you, with Wuya's help. I tried to get to you, but the monks grabbed me and pulled me off the field. We escaped. So many of the others – including you and your warriors – didn't. The survivors retreated. We formed a Resistance here in the Forest of Neither Here Nor There, because Hannibal can't get in here. We've been working hard, trying to find a way to bring him down. We knew we needed you, but until recently, we hadn't been able to get to you."  
  
Again, Chase's expression remains unmoving, but it's clear that he's paying close attention. When Jack finishes, there is a flicker of rage across the man's face, as memory starts falling back into order. That last battle... The pain of being cut to the heart, of falling from the sky. The dungeon. Talks with Hannibal, and humiliations. And then intense black, and nightmares, nightmares, nightmares; for all those long years.  
  
He does remember Jack, too. Remembers hearing the boy crying out to him. It feels strange – like it could have been a long, long time ago when that happened, or simply hours in the past. Trying to probe the unsettling thought brings on a weird kind of dizziness, so Chase pushes it to the back of his mind for now.  
  
There is a long time where both of them are silent again; Jack works on getting the last bandages free and Chase broods. When the man speaks again, there is anger in his tone. "Fifteen years," he snarls, again.  
  
Jack freezes momentarily. He doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing. Instead, he cleans the wounds, smears on the salve with a light touch perfected from too many battles, and re-dresses them. When he's finished, he piles the used supplies onto the tray with the spent canister and looks at Chase again.  
  
"Do you want any broth? Meds say no solid food until you've gotten accustomed to having something in your stomach again," he said quietly.  
  
A pause, before: "No." He almost snaps it, impatient and irate. All the cuts are stinging slightly, aching again from being redressed. He looks at Jack, very serious. "Who else is here?" he asks. "You said this is a resistance against Bean. Who else is here?"  
  
"Raimundo, Clay, Kimiko... Omi." He said this name hesitantly. He didn't want to see any joy on Chase's face at Omi's name. After all this time, he was still jealous of any affection the man might possess for other people. "Your old 'apprentice', Jermaine. About a dozen of the Xiaolin monks are left over. Various humans from around the world; mostly scientists, inventors, and medical personnel. A few professional soldiers. A lot of civilians, some of them farmers. They work with the Forest to provide our food."  
  
Unfortunately, there it is. The relief, a very subtle shift of Chase's expression, when Jack tells him that the four monks are fine. "It was wise to come here, to the forest," is all he says, nodding in solemn approval. Again, he seems to consider Jack, and assess him. "You're with them now... Perhaps also a wise choice, on your part, Spicer," he muses softly. "You look..." A pause. "...much different to me."  
  
Jack swallowed hard. He shrugged his shoulders, trying for a nonchalant attitude. "Well, _some_ of us haven't spent nearly fifteen years in an enforced coma." He grinned wise-assishly at the man in the bed. "Some of us had to grow up. Last time you saw me, I was almost fifteen myself. Now, I'm almost thirty."  
  
When Chase said nothing, merely looked at him steadily, Jack shrugged again.  
  
"As for joining the monks... not much choice, really. I didn't want to be lackey to a crazy _bean_ , and Hannibal locked Wuya up soon after he nabbed you. And it's not like everyone's all sunshine and rainbows and ponies around here – we're all of us walking a thin line, and we know it. As for me... well, they've gotten some use out of me. A lot of the stuff I've made has pulled our tails out of the fire more often than not; so I'm the Chief Technical Engineer." He grinned again, truly amused, as he said, "In short, I'm the mechanic with a fancy title."  
  
Finally, something happens – something that hasn't happened in more than fifteen years: Chase Young smiles and laughs. It brings a shade of that fire back into his presence; that Youth that he's never had to lose. Now, in this room, he's physically younger than Jack is. It's his curse, his blessing – he remains unchanged while the world around him changes dramatically, in even as short a span of time as fifteen years.  
  
"Jack," he says, eyes cast toward the ceiling. He uses the first name, something he'd done rarely even all those years ago. Then, his humor grows slightly darker. Tinged with sadness, regret, irony. "...I wish this hadn't happened." He sighs deeply, simply stating a fact.  
  
Jack let his humor fade. "Me, too," he says, his voice throbbing with quiet sincerity. "I tried, Chase. That day... I tried hard to get to you. I had this crazy plan to throw you to the monks; to let Hannibal take me. But the monks had other ideas. They didn't like leaving you behind; Omi... Omi was crying. But they told me later that if they hadn't grabbed me when they did, then Hannibal would've gotten us _both_ , and the world would've gone down the crapper for sure, without any chance of saving it."  
  
"Mmm." A low sound. Chase is still watching the ceiling in thought.  
  
Jack was silent for a few moments; watching and waiting to see if Chase had anything further to say. When Chase said nothing, he decided it was time to go.  
  
He gathered up the tray and turned to leave. He was almost to the door when he heard Chase say: "Later… why did they tell you those things 'later'?"  
  
Jack looked back over his shoulder. "They had to cold-cock me to get me off the field. I wasn't at all interested in leaving you behind. I woke up a day or so after the get-away."  
  
Then, he opened the door and was gone.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
They built the new temple in the trees. Partly because at night, the Forest of Neither Here Nor There filled with shadowy things, old sacred things, and being on or under the ground was simply not a good idea. But up here, their temple-base is well concealed, hidden around thick blue-green vines and leaves. Jack almost doesn't see Omi and Clay as he comes upon the two monks leaning on the railing of a walkway, staring off into the growing dark.  
  
Omi gave a small bow of his head and Clay tipped his hat. They'd tried to make him stop wearing those stupid Texas things, but no go. Even here in hiding, even after everything that they'd all gone through, the man was a cowboy through and through. "Jack," he greeted, genuinely friendly and warm – it was his nature.  
  
Jack nodded politely to Clay. After all these years, he couldn't maintain a facade of annoyance at the cowboy. "Clay," he said, and folded his arms to lean wearily against the railing beside the cowboy. After a moment, he added, "Omi."  
  
"You look plumb wore out, pardner," Clay said, reaching over to give Jack a light punch to the shoulder – a comradely gesture of affection, and one of the few that Jack tolerated.  
  
Jack nodded. "You could say that. I just gave Chase a short summation of what's been going on while he was 'napping' the last fifteen years."  
  
Instantly, the two monks abandoned their easy positions and turned to face him.  
  
Both looked completely shocked, hopeful, worried, all at once. With Clay, it's sort of an open surprise. The emotions that come to Omi's face are more complex, more pained. "He's awake?" the smaller monk asks, eager.  
  
He frowns at the look Jack gives him – Omi is aware of the bitterness between them sometimes. Especially on this subject.  
  
"Yeah, he's awake – and _not_ in a good mood," Jack growled. "He's five different kinds of pissed off. But he let me change out his IV and his bandages. He said _no_ to food, so don't press him on it."  
  
The small monk’s expression shifts slightly to one of concern. "He should eat." Omi folds his arms together, as he always used to do when he folded them into the long sleeves of his robes.  
  
Jack sneered. "He's had enough being manhandled against his will for a while, don't you think, Short-sheet? Let his brain have a chance to digest everything before you force his stomach to fill up."  
  
Omi gave a nervous, somewhere apologetic look to Jack and then left the railing and headed for the infirmary room at the end of the hall. "Don't worry, pardner," Clay said quietly, when Jack tensed.  
  
Jack stared angrily after Omi, and then turned to face Clay. "Where the hell does he get off ignoring me? I just _saw_ Chase! I know what he said, and what's—“ He broke off, and looked away mulishly.  
  
Clay nodded sympathetically. "Don't take it personal or nothin'," he said, gently. "We all been tryin' so long to get him here... don't blame Omi for wantin' to see him, Jack. He don't mean nothin' by it."  
  
Jack shrugged huffily. "Yeah, yeah... I know. If it weren't for _all_ of us, and all that crap." He was silent for a moment. Then, in an almost tiny voice: "He just _looked_ at me, Clay. No reaction. Then I mention your merry little band – I mention _Omi_ – and he lights up like a fuckin' firecracker."  
  
"Aw, Jack," Clay says softly, in that deep Southern drawl of his. The cowboy's never been much with words. "I don't try an' understand it," was all he said, kind of slowly. "They've got somethin' alike, the two of them, is all... Don't worry about it too much, Jack."  
  
Jack sighed roughly. "Sure, they have something going. I get that. I just don't _want_ to, 'cause it means I'll never have that."  
  
"Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe you got somethin' else," Clay said, always the optimist. Then, more seriously: "He used to look at you, you know. When you weren't lookin' at him... Just give it a little more time Jack. I mean, I know fifteen years is already too much... but maybe just a little more."  
  
Jack froze for a moment. Then, he turned to look at Clay. "What do you mean: 'He used to look at me'?"  
  
The cowboy's never sly or teasing, like Rai is. It's more a gentle kindness, and just the fact that he doesn't talk about other people behind their backs too often. "Back when this whole thing started; back when Bean was risin' to the top and we all started fighting together. Chase used to look at you, when you were working. Or sometimes when you were just standing around, whenever you weren't payin' attention. Just like that." A smile. Clay gave Jack another friendly nudge then stepped away from the railing and headed across the walkway.  
  
Jack watched his friend go. Then, it was his turn to stare out into the darkness as he mulled over what Clay had said to him.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
Omi could hear Jack's furious voice behind him as he hurried away, but he put the sound out of his mind. He understood Jack's concern for Chase, but the goth-turned-chief wasn't the only one worried.  
  
Wasn't the only one who'd missed Chase so very much.  
  
Omi scurried along the walkways, his heart pounding with anxiety and excitement. What would happen? What would Chase say upon seeing him for the first time in years? He had so much to say to the warlord. He'd waited a long time, but now... now he could do it.  
  
Arriving at the hospital wards – not the ICU, because Chase hadn't been that badly injured – Omi swiped his ID card through the lock on Chase's door. Just doing so would send a signal, along with his code, to the desk with the nurse attendant on duty, who would take note of who had come to visit.  
  
The panel beeped, flashed, and then the door slid apart. Omi tried to take a step forward... and couldn't. His nerves were simply too shaky.  
  
Chase had gone halfway to sleep again, lying back against the pillows and listening to the drip of the IV. When he felt something familiar... a warm kind of presence, a playful aura – he opened his eyes to slants and peered toward the door. The figure standing there was one of a monk, still built rather small but obviously a grown man. "Omi," the warlord said quietly, genuinely welcoming.  
  
Omi jerked, startled, and blinked. The voice was rougher; growlier than he remembered. _Of course his voice will be raspy; it has not been used,_ he told himself, even as he forced himself to step into the room.  
  
Looking hesitantly, he found Chase lying on the bed – his gold eyes staring fixedly at him. He couldn't help the small, warbling cry of Chase's name.  
  
A ghost of the old smirk passed across the man's face – a hint of amusement glinting behind the gold of his eyes. "I had wondered if you'd come..." The man closed his eyes again, more from exhaustion than anything else. "Much has changed... Young monk, I'm glad to see you, though."  
  
A huge, relieved smile spread across Omi's face. He walked over to stand by the bedside, his head only just coming up level to Chase's horizontal body.  
  
"I am glad to see you as well," Omi said, and bowed to his old foe-friend. He looked over the warlord's body and nodded slowly. "Jack has taken care of you?"  
  
The man nodded slowly, giving no more response than that. All the different wounds were itching and aching – adding irritation to fatigue and making it hard to concentrate.  
  
Omi sighed. He lifted his hand, wanting to take hold of Chase's hand, but paused before he made contact. He wasn't sure if he should touch Chase; wasn't sure if the man would even welcome his touch.  
  
"I am glad you are free, Chase Young," he said softly.  
  
A sigh, rough and deep. Chase didn't feel like he'd come back... not back to anything he knew. Everything felt... almost like it was still in the dark, still snarled in the thorns, still trapped and asleep. "Thank you," he said, just as softly as Omi had spoken.  
  
"Jack Spicer said you have not eaten."  
  
"Did he?" A faint smirk. "It isn't 'Jack Spicer's' place to be concerned with that."  
  
Omi frowned. "It _is_ his place. He has been worried sick about you for nearly fifteen years." Another frown. " _I_ have been worried about you. I request that you at least have a cup of broth. You must erect up your strength."  
  
For long moments, there was no reply. It looked almost as if the man had simply fallen back to sleep, until he gave a heavy sigh and opened his eyes again. "Fifteen years..." he repeated, again, like if he snarled it enough he could fix it somehow. Then, he very stiffly and slowly moved his arms under him and shifted to sit up farther, fixing Omi with a somewhat annoyed but open hearted look.  
  
Omi's eyes widened at the expression on Chase's face; at the emotion in the man's eyes. However, he was too concerned for Chase to back down now.  
  
"Please," he said quietly.  
  
The warlord shifted, like he wanted to cross his arms over his chest, and then seemed to think better of it. He let out a heavy sigh. "Very well, Omi," he said quietly.  
  
Omi bowed in gratitude, but when he straightened up, he fixed Chase with a suspicious look. "If I personally go to retrieve the broth, will you be conveniently 'asleep' when I return?"  
  
A smirk. "We shall see."  
  
Omi arched an eyebrow. "In that case, I believe I shall make use of my authority." Walking to the doorway, he reached up and unlocked the door, stepped out, and looked up and down the hall.  
  
Fortunately, a nurse was walking by. When she saw him, she smiled in recognition, and Omi smiled back.  
  
"A cup of warm broth, please," he requested. "He has agreed to eat."  
  
The nurse glanced at the door with thought-dark eyes, but nonetheless nodded and said, "Yes, sir," and continued on her way.  
  
With that, Omi stepped back inside, re-locked the door, and once again joined Chase by the bedside.  
  
The man had his eyes closed, but he was still smirking slightly. The two of them sat in silence, listening to the creaking of the room. They were comfortable in each other's presence. It went on until finally, there was a soft knock at the door.  
  
Omi went over to open the door. He accepted the cup of broth handed to him with a nod of thanks, and then re-locked the door again and walked back over to the bedside. He frowned as he considered the logistics of the situation, and finally decided the best way to do this would be to join Chase on the bed.  
  
The bed creaked slightly as the new weight was added to it. Chase sighed, opening his eyes partially and fixing Omi with a gaze that seemed to register on him and then pass through, looking past his existence and out of the room, to somewhere very else, and very far away.  
  
"It's hard to think about sometimes, even for me," he said softly. "The way time passes. When I was a mortal man, each year seemed to crawl past so slowly. And since then, I've watched whole decades fly by and hardly noticed... Why does this feel different? Why does _this_ fifteen years matter so much?"  
  
He frowned and shook his head, fixing Omi with another hard gaze. "...Tell me what I've missed. Besides this war, I mean. Besides Hannibal Bean and the state of the world. Tell me what's happened to these _people_. You, and the others."  
  
Omi reached for the cup he'd placed carefully on the mattress. "I believe," he said quietly, "that the reason it annoys you so terribly is that the absence of years was not by _your_ choice."  
  
He held the cup up and positioned it so Chase could bend his head and sip slowly.  
  
"As to the rest of it... well. It is a long and winding tale, Chase Young."  
  
Chase gave Omi a look that said: _I'm not going anywhere._  
  
Omi nodded. "As you wish. After... after your defeat, the world changed. Your power was added to Bean's, and so was Wuya's. Jack's own skills, had they been added to Bean's assets, would have brought about the doom of the world much faster. Two months, instead of five years. As it was, Jack's talents enabled us to fight him off long enough to gather survivors and materials from each land Bean swept through."  
  
Omi sighed. "Jack... was distraught. At first, his sole function was to work to find a way to free you. But, time passed, and Bean kept _you_ guarded most of all. Jack's responsibilities grew. _Our_ responsibilities grew. Lang Niu and Guan and other temple masters formed the Resistance. We had discovered, accidentally, that the Forest of Neither Here Nor There would repel Bean – neither he nor any of his forces penetrate into the Forest. We were safe here."  
  
The little monk paused as he took a cloth from a pocket and used it to help wipe up the liquid that dripped from Chase's chin; ignoring the disgusted scowl on the man's face.  
  
"Once we realized that we were a community of survivors, and that the Forest would provide a refuge for us, we struggled to form a society. We made certain that among the ones we rescued were scientific thinkers and military people. We adapted; gathered supplies from cities and grew what we could here in the Forest. Jack's technical skill is far superior to everyone's, so he became the Chief Technical Engineer. It helped ground him; kept him from floating off on daydreams of revenge, or throwing his life away trying to get you free.  
  
"Myself and my fellow Dragons helped to build the structure here in the Forest. Guan and the other masters decided it was time to begin teaching the children that had been rescued. So, we have become teachers. Jermaine courted and wed a girl a few years back; they had a daughter, Luchia, before his wife was killed in a Hound attack. Jermaine is a Squad Leader; we call our military units ‘squads’. Currently, there are nearly two hundred of us here in the Forest, including you.”  
  
"Ah..." Chase said. The sound could have meant anything at all, but between the two of them it passed as a kind of statement of understanding. Understanding, if not acceptance, of everything that had happened in his long absence.  
  
“Dojo…” Omi’s voice cracked on the name. “Dojo is the last living dragon in the world. He was captured by Hannibal Bean eight years ago. Our information is that Bean connected him to you through the Heylin vines, and that was how you received your Lao Mang Lone infusion when he ran out of other dragons.”  
  
Chase frowned.  
  
“We knew about the harvesting and slaughtering of the dragons in the world, and so Dojo and Jack worked together to begin a cloning program… for the day when you would be freed. Dojo supplied DNA samples – bits of himself – to help Jack grow many, many other versions of himself – non-thinking, but living dragons. It is from these that your current supply is made.”  
  
“Ah,” Chase said again. He was, admittedly, impressed with Dojo’s foresight and Jack’s skill in dragon-farming. He was grateful for it, as well, and a thousand other emotions he could not and did not want to put a name to.  
  
Omi sighed and nodded. "There isn't much to tell. We live; we fight; we survive. We clash with Bean’s forces. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. But, until recently, we have not made any headway."  
  
"So I am your ‘headway’, then?" Some odd, darker kind of expression crossed Chase's face. But it was gone almost as suddenly as it had appeared.  
  
Omi offered a hesitant smile. "You _and_ the fact we recovered the Serpent's Tail. We could not have gotten to you if not for the Tail." The grin faded from his face. "We lost several people to the retrieval of it."  
  
They were both silent for a bit, and by that time, Chase had finished nearly all of the broth before he declared enough was enough. Once again, Omi cleaned him, and then he hopped down neatly from the bed, already fishing out his securi-card.  
  
"Thank you for eating, Chase Young," he said quietly. "You must rebuild your strength."  
  
Chase sighed quietly and shifted down into his pillow again. His body was tight with an ache that made him feel like he'd been turned to stone. When he was settled again, he gave Omi a sharp look.  
  
"I am... grateful... that you risked your life for me. But I am not part of your happy little community, Omi. I will eat only what you bring me. I will allow only Jack Spicer to tend to my wounds. Should anyone else attempt either chore, they will discover why it is necessary to lock my door – though this prisoner is all but invalid."  
  
Omi blinked. "You... are not our prisoner, Chase."  
  
A thick black eyebrow arched up. "Oh, no? Perhaps, then, I am imagining the lock you have so carefully re-sealed each time you've had to open and close the door to this room."  
  
Omi frowned. "You are not our prisoner. The lock is not to keep you in. It is to keep others out." He glanced away, ashamed. "There are those in our community who do not welcome your presence. We will not allow them to take their grief and fear out upon you."  
  
The small monk headed for the door.  
  
"Omi."  
  
Omi paused and glanced back.  
  
"I meant what I said: Only you and Spicer are to tend to me. If there is need for a doctor, one or both of you will be in attendance, or _I_ will make myself absent. Have I made myself clear?"  
  
Omi nodded once and then quit the room.  
  
Chase stared at the closed door for several moments after the monk had departed. Whatever Omi thought, he suspected the lock had been placed there with a dual intent, by whoever _had_ decided to put it there.  
  
"Feh," he scoffed silently, and then slowly drifted back into uneasy sleep.  
  
  
*~*~*

 

 

The next time Jack came to change Chase’s bandages and IV, he found the man sleeping.  
  
Jack sighed softly. He had hoped Chase would be awake again – just so he could see those gold eyes filled with life; hear that rough, growling voice speaking, and know that his own personal nightmare was over and that Chase was truly here and no longer locked away.  
  
As quietly as possible, he changed out the used IV canister for a fresh one, inspected the connections, and then set about gently peeling the old bandages away, smearing on the healing salve, and putting on fresh bandages. He moved slowly, not rushing; after all, Chase wasn’t going anywhere for a while, and there was no need to be indelicate with his wounds.  
  
It was only when he had finished the ones covering Chase’s front side from his neck to his feet that Jack hesitated. Because there was one place he’d neglected last time – too thoroughly unnerved at the thought of touching Chase in so intimate a place while the man was awake and watching him.  
  
Sighing, Jack gently took hold of Chase’s right leg and lifted it up, moving it slightly. Then, carefully, he took hold of Chase’s cock and held it up out of the way as he angled his head to get a better look.  
  
Sure enough, there was a cut going from the area where his right leg joined his hip, across the base of his penis, and down across his testicles – right where the doctor’s notes said it was. And because Chase had stated categorically that he refused to let anyone other than Jack tend to him that meant it hadn’t been tended in two days, and was now bright red with infection. Jack grimaced and felt his own genitals tighten a bit with sympathy.  
  
Jack sighed again. “The things I do for you, Chase,” he said softly. “Hate to bother you like this, but I’m pretty sure you’d kill me if it got sick and dropped off.”  
  
Reaching for the pot of salve, Jack scooped some up onto his right thumb. Holding Chase’s cock out the way with his left hand again, he smeared the salve along the length of the cut; doing it twice to be sure it was thoroughly coated. He counted to ten silently, and then used his thumb nail to begin scraping away the dead skin cells that had formed a scab like a line of stitches.  
  
“Do you have to dig quite so hard?”  
  
Jack went utterly still; utterly cold. He didn’t move a muscle, not even to breathe.  
  
A rough sigh. “I’ve been awake the entire time, Spicer. If I were going to murder you, I’d have done it by now.” A pause, and then: “You’re correct – I _would_ do my best to damage you if your neglect caused irreparable harm to my genitals.”  
  
At that, Jack relaxed and turned his head; giving Chase a very narrow-eyed look born of peevishness.  
  
Chase calmly met his look with a mild expression of indifference.  
  
“You really are a beast,” Jack grumbled, but continued with his task – albeit with a lighter touch.  
  
“Feh.” Again, a sound signifying nothing more than irritation.  
  
“You were awake the entire time? Why didn’t you say something?” Jack asked as he continued scraping away the scab, now working at the base of Chase’s penis with as delicate a touch as he dared. The rest of the wound was bleeding freely, if sluggishly – bright red, healthy blood.  
  
“There was no need for me to say anything. Besides which, I would rather have the wound tended to, and I assumed staying silent would enable you to get over your childish timidity that much quicker.”  
  
Jack growled. “Forgive me for being hesitant about handling so intimate a part of you. I recall the days when merely touching your _armor_ for the barest moment was enough to earn a scathing glance from you.”  
  
Chase was silent for a long while. Then: “Those days are long gone. The boy you were then – the one who offended me with his ignorance and ineptitude – is no more. Too, I’ve always been a pragmatic man.” A slight tensing and a soft gasp as Jack began working on the part of the wound over his testicles. “Easier to simply let you get on with it than to snap and snarl until the infection is so much worse and more drastic measures need to be taken.”  
  
Jack sighed and nodded. “Well, I’m glad you can be reasonable about this. I don’t know what we’d have done if you’d put up a fight.”  
  
“We?”  
  
Jack gave Chase a slightly amused look. “I’d have called Omi in to pet you into docility. He seems to have that effect on you.”  
  
The thighs beneath his arms and shoulders tensed, and Jack sensed he’d insulted Chase quite handily.  
  
He sighed again. “Relax, Chase. I was only teasing.”  
  
“I don’t tease,” the injured warlord replied, his voice a liquid growl that did funny things to Jack’s insides and sent a subtle shiver rippling up his spine.  
  
“Really?” Jack replied, deliberately keeping his voice light. “I remember several instances of you being playful – for an evil warlord, that is. You joked, you snarked… admit it, Chase: You were _playing_ with us. Not toying; _playing_.”  
  
“And if I—“ Young paused for a soft grunt as the last of the scab pulled free of his healthy skin. “—was?”  
  
Jack blithely gathered up the shreds of scab and flicked them onto the nearby tray. He cleaned his fingers and nails carefully, and then scooped up more salve onto his fingers and once again took hold of Chase’s quiescent flesh.  
  
“I thought it was kind of strange, then,” he said as he began working the salve into the wound. “I couldn’t make heads or tails out of your behavior. You weren’t acting very much like I expected an evil warlord to act. Now… well, hindsight being what it is, I think it was kind of—“  
  
“If you say ‘cute’, Spicer, I will remove your spleen through the nearest available orifice,” Chase growled.  
  
Heroically, Jack resisted the urge to say it anyway, and instead finished with, “—interesting. Fun, even; if you believe in that sort of thing anymore.”  
  
Even as he said it, Jack knew it was a mistake. Startled at his own insensitivity, he glanced up just in time to see Chase look away into the shadows of his ward room.  
  
“Hmmm.” Nothing more; nothing less – and yet, he said it all.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Jack said, abashed. He finished applying the salve and then tucked a loose bandage around Chase’s flesh to absorb any blood that seeped through the ointment. “Chase – I’m sorry. You’ve been… in my thoughts, in my head, for so long that I sometimes forget you haven’t been… here.”  
  
Gold eyes flicked forward again, studying the uncomfortable young man intently. Jack stood still, allowing Chase the concession.  
  
After a moment or two of tension, Chase sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m tired, Spicer.” Nothing more needed to be said.  
  
“Right. I’ll just get out and let Omi – I’ll let you get some rest,” Jack amended, and he quickly gathered up the used materials and hightailed it out of the room.  
  
Chase waited in darkness and silence. Several minutes later, the lock on his door blipped and then his door opened. The scent of mineral-rich broth, and the clean smell of _wet_ that he identified with Omi, entered the room.  
  
“Hello, little one,” he said dully.  
  
“Hello, Chase Young,” said the littlest monk quietly.  
  
Chase heard the sounds of Omi setting the cup of broth on the spartan bedside table; a moment later, he felt the weight of Omi’s body joining his on the mattress and opened his eyes. He allowed Omi to help him sit – felt the monk shift and bunch the pillow to help prop him up – and then relaxed back as much as he was able.  
  
Both of them ignored the dampness of fresh sweat that the simple exertion had provoked from him.  
  
“What did you say to Jack that unsettled him so?” Omi asked as he reached for the broth cup.  
  
Chase allowed himself a small smirk. “Do I detect a hint of protectiveness regarding Spicer, little one?”  
  
Omi gave the older man a calm and censuring look. “Of course you do. I consider Jack Spicer my friend.”  
  
“He cannot say the same of you, Omi.”  
  
Omi shook his head. “He is jealous of the rapport you and I share. Were it not for that, Jack would no doubt feel free to allow himself closer.”  
  
“You are suggesting he does not believe he has the right to closer ties with you?”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“So sure, you are, that he wants to be closer to you? You, who humiliated him and triumphed over him time and again when you were children?”  
  
“Jack and I have learned to let the past go so that we may work together in our present towards our future.”  
  
“Perhaps you have. Of _Jack_ , I am not so certain.”  
  
Omi gave the smirking man a cross look. “Drink your broth.”  
  
Smirking just the tiniest bit more, Chase bent his head to the cup Omi held out to him and began to drink.  
  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
  
When next Jack came to change Chase’s bandages after his sheets had been changed, he found the man wide awake and staring directly at him the instant he stepped through the door.  
  
He halted; feeling the impact of that gaze like a physical blow. Jack reminded himself that he was a well-respected, hard-working man in his own right, and forced himself to meet Chase’s eyes.  
  
The instant he did so, he could see the challenge in the gold orbs: Daring Spicer to attend to him while he was awake and aware right from the start.  
  
Jack firmed his jaw and narrowed his eyes. If Chase thought that was all it would take to get him to back down and run away, he had a lot to learn about the new Jack Spicer.  
  
“Well… Look who’s bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Jack snarked with a grin.  
  
One thick black eyebrow lifted. “Well… Look who’s taken his daily sarcasm pill.”  
  
Jack snickered. “We use injections these days; not quite as potent as a pill, but quicker.”  
  
Chase gave a small shrug of his shoulders and made no reply.  
  
“So, let’s get you cleaned up and changed out and I’ll be on my way,” Jack said, walking over to put the tray he carried on the bedside table.  
  
It was then that Chase noticed the additional implements on the tray. His eyes widened slightly and then he gave Jack a disbelieving look. “You intend to bathe me?”  
  
“It’s been a few days. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that you’re rank. I had assumed you would want a bath,” Jack replied, arching his own eyebrow. He had begun mimicking that particular expression from Chase, and it had now become habit.  
  
“A _bath_ , yes. Not pawed at with a chilly wet rag.”  
  
“Sorry – the Jacuzzi tubs are all out of order at the moment.”  
  
“A shower, then. I am no stranger to a shower.”  
  
“Well…” Jack tapped a finger against his chin and pretended to think. Then, he grinned and shrugged as he said, “If that’s what you want. Personally, I didn’t think you’d want to be naked with me that soon, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”  
  
Chase’s gold eyes went glacial. “Excuse me?”  
  
Jack dropped the playfulness. Completely serious, he said, “You can’t stand on your own for long periods of time, Chase. In order for you to shower, I would have to join you. No, I have no intention of showering with my clothes on. If you want a shower, fine, but you’ll have to accept that I’d be just as naked as you.”  
  
They were both silent for several moments. Finally, Chase sighed and gestured at the tray before turning his face away.  
  
Jack tried not to feel as if he’d been rejected, and instead got busy.  
  
“I’d rather start with your back,” he said evenly. “Would you prefer to roll onto your front or to be lifted up and leaned forward?”  
  
Chase’s eyes narrowed; his face tightened. This casual, open discussion that spoke so blatantly of his current infirmity grated mightily on his nerves. However, his pragmatism reared its head, and after a moment, he loosened his jaw enough to say, “On my front.”  
  
Jack sighed. “Chase, I’m sorry. I know this is irritating, and I’m sorry for it. It won’t be much longer; you’re getting stronger every day.”  
  
“Just get on with it!” Young snapped.  
  
Silence reigned for several seconds. Then, quietly: “I apologize, Spicer. Do as you will.”  
  
“No worries,” Jack said quietly, and he lifted Chase’s right arm and draped it around his shoulders. While Chase held onto him, Jack slid his arms beneath the prone warrior and lifted him a bit off the mattress, stepped back so Chase slid to the edge an inch or so, and then began tipping him smoothly onto his side.  
  
Chase’s fingers clenched hard into the muscle of Jack’s shoulder, but he made no sound as he was deftly rolled onto his front; letting go of Jack when he had to in order to complete the turn. He was thankful he didn’t end up face down into his pillow.  
  
Jack noted that the minor cuts and scrapes along Chase’s back were healing well. Because he’d been held flush to the wall for so long, he wasn’t as torn up on his back. Numerous scars, however, spoke of past tortures, and Jack’s need to murder Bean increased exponentially.  
  
He had a job to do, though, and he gathered up Chase’s wildly tangled hair and set it up on the pillow above the man’s head. Reaching for the tray, he settled on the mattress close by him. Picking up the washcloth, he dropped it into the steaming hot bowl of water and let it soak for a minute. Then, wincing, he fished it out, wrung the excess water from it, and settled the cloth across Chase’s shoulders.  
  
There was a brief moment as Chase tensed, and then the man relaxed with a quiet sigh. Quickly, knowing the cloth would cool fast, Jack swept the washcloth firmly over Chase’s upper back, shoulders, and the back of his neck. When he put the cloth back into the bowl to soak, he caught up a towel and wiped away the moisture so Chase wouldn’t be too awfully chilled.  
  
“Do you plan to use soap at all, Spicer?” Chase grumbled.  
  
“We’ve got something better. The Forest has supplied quite a bit of produce for various things, and our chemists have figured out how to boil down the stuff into different products without need of a big manufacturing warehouse. We’ve got this nifty kind of gel that does the same job as soap, but doesn’t need to be rinsed off; a natural cleanser. The awesome part is that it doesn’t leave you sticky. It actually makes your skin softer. The women are nuts about it.”  
  
“Then why use water?”  
  
Jack grinned, knowing Chase couldn’t see it. “I _could_ say that it’s just a handy excuse to get my hands on you—“ He winced when Chase tensed beneath his touch. “—but the truth is, despite the fact that the gel works, nothing really feels quite so good as being wiped down with water. I thought you might appreciate the amenity.”  
  
Silence. And then— “I do. Thank you.”  
  
Jack made a small sound and went about his business with the hot, wet cloth again.  
  
He made short work of wiping Chase down from neck to heels, and then applied the gel; rubbing it in thoroughly. He was pleased when the gel soaked in, leaving Chase’s skin clean and smooth.  
  
Moving the tray back to the table, Jack said, “Alright… ready to tackle the front?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Jack went around to the other side of the bed and bent over. Without prompting, Chase reached up and hooked his arm around Jack’s neck and shoulders and held on, using the other man to pull himself upwards. Working together, they got Chase flipped onto his back again, and Jack reached towards Chase’s face with the cloth that had been soaking in the still hot water.  
  
Chase caught him by the wrist and gripped tight. He looked into Jack’s crimson eyes and said, “I would prefer to clean my face myself.”  
  
Jack nodded and let go of the cloth without argument.  
  
Without another word, Chase carefully cleaned his face and ears and throat with the cloth. He handed it over to Jack, accepted the towel and patted himself dry, and then accepted the gel. The goop felt strange on his skin, but after it had dried, he noticed the smoothness left behind immediately. He also felt very much refreshed, and said so.  
  
Jack nodded. “It’s weird like that, but yeah. I mean, for a magical forest, you’d think we’d all be getting high on this stuff, or addicted, or develop some strange green fungal cancer that makes us sprout broccoli from our foreheads—“  
  
Chase interrupted with an amused snort.  
  
“—but so far, it seems to be one-hundred percent beneficial.” With that, Jack took up the wet cloth and began scrubbing Chase’s shoulders and chest.  
  
Chase watched as Jack washed him, dried him, and then gel-cleansed him from his chest down to his toes. He noted, with interest, the mask of indifference Jack assumed when handling his genitals, but he was too sore and too tired to pursue the matter.  
  
Eventually, Chase was clean from head to toe.  
  
He was also ready to sleep, voluntarily, for the first time in ages.  
  
“Tell Omi I do not wish to be disturbed further right now,” he said quietly, allowing his eyes to blink closed.  
  
Jack watched Chase close his eyes while he smeared salve on the cuts and applied fresh bandages. “Alright, Chase. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”  
  
“Hmmm.”  
  
By the time Jack was done and gathered everything together, he honestly believed Chase was asleep this time, and so he quietly left after covering Chase with the thermal blanket on his bed.  
  
Out in the hall, he saw Omi waiting nearby; seated in meditation. Walking over, Jack stopped and nudged the smaller man carefully in the knee with the toe of his boot. When Omi opened his eyes and looked up at him, Jack shook his head and said, “The bath wore him out. He actually fell asleep on me.”  
  
Omi’s eyes went wide. “What was he doing on you?”  
  
Jack’s own eyes widened and then he grinned. “No, sorry – it’s an old slang expression. What I mean is that while I was tending to him, he fell asleep.”  
  
Omi scowled. “Why did you not say so in the first place?”  
  
“And miss seeing you get all worked up?” Jack replied, beginning to walk away.  
  
The small monk scooped up the broth bowl he’d had with him and followed after Jack, quickly falling into step beside him.  
  
“Were his infections worse?” Omi asked quietly.  
  
Jack stopped at the nurse’s desk and dropped off the tray, nodded his thanks, and continued walking; leaving the hospital section and moving out onto the greater public walkways.  
  
“No,” he said to Omi. “In fact, they’re looking better. He, I think, is feeling entirely out of sorts at being so sick in the first place.”  
  
“That is understandable. To have once been the greatest warrior in the world—“  
  
“He still _is_ the greatest,” Jack growled. “He’s just a little off his stride right now. But he’ll get better and then he’ll open up a six-pack of butt-kick and put it in Bean’s face.”  
  
Omi grinned. “As you say.”  
  
Jack snorted. “He said to tell you he’d like his broth later.”  
  
Omi nodded. “Thank you, Jack. I shall be by ‘later’.”  
  
Spicer stopped at a walkway junction and looked down at Omi with a frown. For a moment, it seemed he would say something else. But then he turned and walked away without another word.  
  
Omi silently watched him go. Then, he sighed and headed back for the mess hall to return the broth. He would get fresh broth… later.  
  
  
*~*~*~*

 

 

Jack sighed with frustration. He had to get this new device finished so it could be tested, but he couldn’t concentrate.  
  
He hadn’t been able to see Chase in almost a full week. There had been two more days of helping the man by changing his bandages, but then had come the order for Jack to take his squadron out; a small strike force of Hounds and two of the larger monsters from the Castle were converging on the Forest, and Jack’s squadron, plus two others, were needed to repel the invasion with help from Raimundo and Kimiko.  
  
Then, after that – after he’d had his scratches cleaned and covered and repaired any damaged equipment – two of the tech engineers had come to him, asking for his help with a small problem. Jack had been unable to say no; despite the fact he’d been on his way to go see Chase.  
  
The “small” problem had turned out to be a _huge_ problem. The tasers that the Resistance Squads currently used were powerful, but somehow, Bean had figured out a way to render his monsters – specifically, the Hounds – immune to the taser jolts. Sure, the energy _hurt_ , but it didn’t incapacitate the fiends. So, now, the Resistance needed to develop new stuff. The Techs had tried to go for bigger and stronger; Jack taken one look at the plans and gotten a bad feeling. He’d nixed them and sketched out a design for smaller and sneakier. Then, he’d had to argue the change in plans to the Leader. Fortunately, the Dragons had backed him up, so the Leader had approved.  
  
Of course, now that meant that _he_ had to figure out and put together the new weapon – small enough that two or three could be carried at a time, and containing small, sharp-tipped pellets loaded with a fast-acting cyanide-type poison that the scientists had distilled from several different plants in the Forest. If everything went well, then the pellets would penetrate even the thickest hide of the biggest monster and kill it in about thirty seconds.  
  
On top of all that, the constant rain and thunder was wreaking havoc – on the base and the people – and repairs were being made all the time and tempers were fraying. Three times, Jack had had to break up fights: Twice in his Squad and once among the Techs. He’d already threatened that the next person to step out of line in his presence was going to be made to regret that _he_ was ever born.  
  
Footsteps echoed across the floor. Voices called out and another voice answered back; a familiar voice.  
  
Jack lifted his head and looked around in time to see Syrianna – his Squad partner and on-again-off-again sex partner – walking towards his work station. Sighing, he set down his tools and twisted on his stool to face her, scrubbing tiredly at his eyes with the heels of his hands.  
  
Syrianna’s strong, slender fingers wrapped around his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. She was smirking at him.  
  
“Here you are, Spicer,” she said. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”  
  
Jack grimaced. “Like I’m going to be anywhere else, Syri?”  
  
“I dunno – I tried the hospital, first, but the nurses told me you hadn’t been by in days.”  
  
He gave her a long look and said nothing.  
  
Syri rolled her eyes and stroked her hand through his hair. “Jack, we’ve been over this: I know what he means to you. Of course you’d want to be with him.”  
  
Jack gave an exasperated noise. “Yeah – if only I _could_ be.”  
  
Syri moved to get a better look at his work station table. “How’s it coming?”  
  
“Almost there; not quite. It’s like I’m putting together a puzzle and I’m staring at the last few pieces – and I’ve got no fucking clue on how to make ‘em fit.”  
  
“Maybe if you took a short break? A walk or something to clear your head – and let someone clear out all this mess,” Syri said, gesturing at the grouping of used mugs that contained different amounts of hours’ old, cold cav.  
  
Jack wanted to say no; wanted to keep working, because the sooner he finished with this, the sooner he could get cleaned up and go see Chase. But his butt was numb, his brain was close to it, and his muscles were stiff. Sighing, he nodded and stood, stretching hard, and then walked away from his work station.  
  
“Take your time, boss,” called out one of the techs as Jack and Syri walked away. “You need a break.”  
  
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Jack growled, without anger, and the few techs in the area that heard it laughed.  
  
“C’mon, Sarcasm Boy,” Syri said, and led the way from the tech labs.  
  
They walked along the slightly swaying walkways; from tree to tree, listening to the sound of the wind and rain. People scurried from place to place, intent on getting errands completed. Everything was lit by the lanterns placed at spaced intervals, exuding a soft, golden glow.  
  
Jack took several deep breaths as they walked, feeling the fog in his brain beginning to dissipate. He said nothing; only walked where Syri went, letting her lead the way. He wasn’t terribly surprised when she led him to a very private area, where no lanterns were placed; only emergency glowbar lights.  
  
They kissed – holding onto each other with comfortable looseness. The kiss wasn’t hot or urgent; simply a touch of comfort and compassion and gratitude. Their mouths moved against each other with calm familiarity, and their hands stroked slowly over clothed backs.  
  
When they finally allowed the kiss to fall away, Jack rested his forehead against Syri’s and smiled.  
  
“Thanks,” he said softly. “For rooting me out and for being so understanding.”  
  
She grinned and stroked the back of his neck, feeling him shiver. “Anytime.”  
  
The one thing Jack had always appreciated about his friend and battle partner and sometimes sex partner was how she could say so much with very few words.  
  
When they had first hooked up together, he had made it plain that he was waiting for someone. She had said that was fine, as she wasn’t looking for romance, anyway; she’d had that – until the Hounds took it away from her when Bean invaded her hometown. She didn’t _want_ anything deeply emotional other than friendship. That, she had told him, she could give him; nothing else. And so the arrangement had worked very well.  
  
Syri kissed him again and Jack gave a low sigh into her mouth, shifting restlessly. He’d gone without for almost a month, now – not even jerking off on his own because he’d been caught up doing so many different things at once. And, too, he was almost overloading on the fact Chase was home again. Still, he kissed Syri back, appreciative of her company and her affection for him.  
  
The kiss gradually grew deeper, hotter. Their grips tightened on each other and Jack was shaking slightly as he pressed harder against her, keeping her pinned back against the wall behind her.  
  
“We’ve got ten minutes,” Syri whispered against his mouth.  
  
“We shouldn’t,” Jack murmured back, even as his hands stroked down to her hips. “People will know…”  
  
“Like we’ve ever cared before?” she teased. “Or is it one person in particular you don’t want knowing?”  
  
Jack growled and turned his face away.  
  
She hugged him. “I’m sorry. I know what you’re hoping for.”  
  
He sighed. “Hoping, yes. Likely to ever get it…? No.”  
  
“Jack—“  
  
He kissed her again and opened the fly of her trousers. When he pulled out of the kiss, he said softly, “I’ll deal with it when that conversation comes up. I’m with you now. That’s always been good enough.”  
  
Syri grinned and gave him a short, singeing kiss and then pushed him away so she could begin undoing one boot while he began opening his own trousers.  
  
They fucked up against the wall; their bodies grinding together in hot, urgent pleasure. It was fast, hard, and generous as they both sought to make it good for the other.  
  
When it was over, and they clung, shivering, to each other as their bodies tingled and their hearts pounded, they fought to get their breath back and just held on; enjoying the brief closeness of intimate human contact before they were forced to pull away and become separate entities again.  
  
Re-clothed and as neat as they could get, they ducked their heads out past the protection of the overhead awnings to wash away the sweat and scent they’d generated. Pulling back out of the cold rain, gasping, they both slicked their hair back and then looked at one another for a brief moment.  
  
Then, grinning, Jack flicked his water-soaked fingers at his friend and spattered her face with thick drops of rainwater. He turned and ran, hearing her mock-outraged yelp and her footsteps following close behind him, and the two of them indulged in a brief spate of childishness; knowing that all too soon they’d have to return their focus to the unrelenting grind of staying alive and stopping Bean.  
  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
  
In the forest, the nights are dark. The worst storm yet broke over the temple-base, heavy and hard, full of thunder and lightning. Jermaine and some of the old soldiers were on guard; Chase heard them passing by every half hour or so. And so, he hadn't turned the light on. Just risen out of bed in the dark, walked back and forth and started one of the slow Tai Chi forms. It hurt, and made a few of the worse cuts start bleeding, but he needed this – needed to feel his breath coming in and out of his body; needed to move.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" a hard, quiet voice asked from behind him, and Chase faltered. He caught his footing and turned to see Jack standing there. Before he could say anything, Jack began speaking again.  
  
"Are you _trying_ to get your formerly-comatose ass killed?" Jack barked. He stepped forward and waved his hand over the sensor on the base of the single lamp in the room. As the light flared on, his angry expression was revealed. "Get back in bed before you break something we can't fix!"  
  
"You needn't worry." Chase scowled and finished several more stances before stopping. He looked at Jack, irritation evident on his face. "What are you doing here, Spicer?"  
  
Jack decided to surprise the man. He walked over and, before Chase could stop him, he grabbed Chase around the waist, picked him up, and carried him over to the bed and plunked him down on the mattress. He pointed a finger in Chase's face and snapped, "Stay!" and then turned to fill a water glass from a nearby filter-pitcher.  
  
Absolute shock. What Jack had done was so unexpected that Chase just sat where he'd been put for a moment, staring in disbelief at Spicer's back. "You... you disrespectful worm!" he snarled. "How dare you!" For a moment, his features shifted. His teeth looked sharper, his eyes looked wider. But either he decided not to go all the way into the transformation or (more likely) he just didn't have the energy for it.  
  
Jack sneered and shoved the glass into Chase's hand. "Get over yourself, Chase. In case it's escaped your notice, you aren't exactly in any condition to lord it over anyone. For your information: You're sweating hard, shaking like a leaf, and almost as white as I am!"  
  
A hard scowl. It's sort of shocking: With the age difference between them reversed now, seeing Chase as such a young man with such a sour expression on his face is almost like looking at a sulking teenager, and it's weirdly surreal. "Spicer, you forget your place," he says, and there's nothing so young about his voice. It's deep and commanding, the same as it always has been, and his expression is deadly serious.  
  
Jack scowled back, and Chase had the unfortunate experience of seeing that youthful naiveté disappear forever to be replaced by the new, confident Jack Spicer.  
  
"No, Chase – _you_ don't know my place. Maybe nobody's told you, but I'm not _just_ the Chief Technical Engineer. I'm also a Squad Commander _and_ I'm the one who came up with the plan to bust your ass out of jail. I know who I am, and what I can do, which is a _lot_ more than you're capable of at the moment. I'm not the gullible boy you used to know; not anymore. You're going to have to adjust your perceptions, Young, or you're not going to make it when you finally get back on your feet and out in the real world again."  
  
A glint of yellow eyes. "I've been making it out in the real world for centuries before you were even born," comes the growled reply. But something in his face changes slightly. It's a strange look, almost like distrust, respect, anger or that same strange sorrow that's been hanging with him ever since they pulled him free from the briar. Chase looks away from Jack, and pushes the water back into his hands. He leans back against the headboard of the bed with a wince and stares out into space, sinking back into thought and simply ignoring Jack.  
  
Jack looked at the man on the bed for a long moment.  
  
Then, he threw the water in Chase's face.  
  
When Chase sat up, spluttering, and looked at him with incredulous fury, Jack spun and threw the glass hard against the wall. Being made of plastic, as all their stuff was nowadays – leftovers from a supply depot that hadn't gotten torched – the glass bounced off the wall and rolled across the room. However, that was the least of their concerns.  
  
"You selfish, stuck-up, self-righteous _bitch!_ " Jack yelled down into Chase's face. "Whatever your past 'glories', that's _exactly_ what they are – past! Gone! Over and done with! What _matters_ is the here and now! Glory Days stories are all well and good, but they do fuck all as a crutch to hold up your end of things!"  
  
Chase's mouth dropped open, but Jack kept going.  
  
"I have spent the last fifteen _fucking_ years going out of my _mind_ with worry for you! I have plotted and planned and connived and schemed hundreds of ways to free your ungrateful ass, and what do I get? Nothing but pretentious propaganda and derision. I risked my _life_ for you – several times over!"  
  
Jack caught hold of the neck of his shirt and was about to attempt tearing it when he remembered it was made of a nigh-on indestructible fabric. Instead, he settled for yanking the shirt over his head and throwing it to the floor, leaving his hair wildly ruffled and his chest heaving with exertion.  
  
The fire of fury in his eyes hadn't abated one whit, and crimson eyes glared down on the weakened warlord with near-glowing intensity.  
  
Startled gold eyes took in the roadmap of scars criss-crossing over Jack's torso. Some were extremely old; some were more recent; others in between.  
  
"There's more, down lower," Jack growled. "There's one I got on my _ass_ for telling Bean that someday you'd be kicking _his_ if I had anything to say about it!"  
  
The gold eyes looked up to meet Jack's again, but by now, the fury had abated, leaving him tired.  
  
"I'm sorry," Jack sighed. "I'm sorry for shouting at you, especially when you're so ill. I just... I thought, maybe, after all this time, with everything you knew about me _now_ , I might finally have earned your respect."  
  
He scooped up his shirt and pulled it back on, leaving it loose and un-tucked. He glanced away, not looking at Chase.  
  
"I guess I'll never have it. It was stupid of me to think so. Listen: I won't bother you anymore. I've got projects to take care of, anyway, and my squad is probably wondering if I've dropped dead somewhere and nobody bothered to tell 'em."  
  
Jack turned towards the door. "I'll send somebody to clean up. See ya 'round, Chase."  
  
The room is strangely quiet after the outburst. The rain outside and the thunder overhead sound monstrously loud. Jack gets all the way to the door, punches the code into the panel beside it and gets it open before Chase says, "Stop, Spicer." It's not exactly an order this time. Not cowed, but not angry anymore. Not condescending anymore. There's something else there, making the words softer.  
  
Maybe it's that rare tone that makes Jack pause, though he doesn't close the door.  
  
Silence for a moment, and then Chase sighs. "I do want to thank you," he says. In the pause after that Jack just nods briefly and starts out again.  
  
"And you're right, Spicer. You've become more than I've given you credit for." Jack pauses again, and Chase shifts to sit cross-legged on the bed; to stare after the man that he remembers oh-so-well as a boy. "But, you're so impatient. You want everything at once. I _can't_ give you everything at once, Jack. Try to understand – it's who I am. It's who I've had to be."  
  
A silence between them.  
  
"Come back in."  
  
Jack's first impulse was to snarl and declare himself an adult not in need of pandering. And yet... that would only prove Chase's point. And that meant his point was just as valid as Jack's was.  
  
Sighing, forcing himself to let go of his frustration, Jack turned and stepped back into the room. He palm-locked the door behind him, and walked over to join Chase, standing by the bed.  
  
"Sounds like maybe we don't know each other as well as we think we do," Jack said quietly.  
  
"I knew a boy named Jack Spicer," Chase said solemnly. For once, his yellow eyes are not mocking. He's serious; putting an effort into sitting and talking.  
  
"But that was a long time ago, I suppose." A hesitation, and then an awkward and brutal truth. "I did care for that boy... I was expecting to find him again. But he's not here to be found."  
  
Jack couldn't hide his shock. He stared, wide-eyed. "You... cared about me? But… you _hurt_ me!"  
  
"I hurt everyone." A shrug and a glare.  
  
Jack laughed; the sound tinged with bitterness. "True enough."  
  
He took a deep breath.  
  
Then, he met Chase square in the eyes and said, "I knew – and cared for – a man who was almost a god in my eyes. But, I haven't seen him around lately, either."  
  
Their eyes held, and neither said anything. The air was heavy with a tension, much like that of two strangers meeting for the first time. Very slowly, Chase lifted a hand up and put it against Jack's hair; stroked down to cup his cheek. It was an intimate gesture, but very serious. "I'm not a god," he said, quietly. But then something smoldered behind his gold eyes; dragon fire from deep inside, his dragon soul flashing bright for just an instant. "But, I'm going to kill Hannibal Bean, in a way no god could ever dream of doing."  
  
Jack reached up to cup his hand over the back of Chase's, holding it to his cheek. His answering smile was grim.  
  
"When you do, I'll be right there beside you."  
  
They stared in silence for a few moments.  
  
Then:  
  
"I missed you."  
  
Neither of them knew who said it first.  
  
  
*~*~*~*

 

 

The thunderstorms were not letting up. They just kept hitting one after another, loud and dark, and it was making work and repairs nearly impossible to get done. After losing one of their suspended bridges to a particularly violent bout of hail stones, Raimundo got onto the roof of the eastern dormitory and lifted himself up into the sky, toward the clouds. He used the wind to knock them back, off toward the nearby Nowhere Land. When he came back down he looked tired and wet and slightly irritated.  
  
"Couple of hours," he said, shaking water from his hair. "Everyone, get done what you can get done before the rain starts up again."  
  
Jack nodded and turned to the waiting team of tech-engineers. "Okay, people, you heard him. We've got two hours – I want that bridge back up in one, with a fresh coat of paint and welcome sign besides!"  
  
The tech-engineers gave a round of tired laughter. Many of them were worn out and frazzled to a nerve. The continuous line of storms – no doubt the influence of The Tyrant – had kept them busy for hours, making repairs all around the Temple. Still, they appreciated Jack's "Go To" attitude, for he effortlessly instilled confidence in them by being confident, himself, that they could do what he expected without fail.  
  
Working smoothly, quickly, the team of tech-engineers began slinging poly-fiber ropes and pulleys between the massive limbs that held the suspension bridge, and got to work once they were buckled into their safety harnesses.  
  
Raimundo stood beside Jack; watching with a critical eye as Jack's engineering team went about their business. "They're going to need a break soon," he commented, his voice raspy, as always.  
  
Jack nodded, his expression calm, thoughtful. "We _all_ need a break, Rai. But, we're not likely to get it so long as we've got Chase."  
  
Rai stretched briefly, feeling the aches and twinges of old injuries sounding off. He glanced over at Jack. "How is the old fart doing, anyway?"  
  
Spicer turned his head and regarded Raimundo with wide-eyes. "I dunno; haven't seen him in a couple of days. But I'd be willing to bet he'd drag his scaly ass out of bed to kick yours around if he knew you'd called him that."  
  
Rai snorted laughter. "There's a dilemma: Keep it from him so he doesn't kill himself hunting me down, or tell him just so it'll get him on his feet and ready to fight that much quicker?"  
  
The question made them both sober instantly. It was no secret that having rescued Chase wasn't enough; they needed him to get back into fighting shape so they could use him to fight Bean. However, Chase's recovery was not going as fast as they had hoped, and so many of them were becoming frustrated at the wait. Jack had been forced to reprimand his own squad for unruly behavior when he'd overheard them grumbling about "special treatment for a slimy monster who'd kill 'em all as soon as look at 'em."  
  
Jack sighed and shook his head. "I just don't know, Raimundo. I really don't. Last I saw him, he's pushing himself to get back into top condition, but...."  
  
Rai nodded. "I understand. Listen: Your techs know their jobs; they don't need you hanging about. Why don't you take a break for yourself and go see Chase? He might be wondering where you are, too, you know."  
  
Jack frowned as he thought about it. Then, finally, he shrugged. "What the hell – why not? I can use the chance to at least snag something more than a handful of rations and cold cav."  
  
Pedrosa grimaced and nodded. "Good idea. I know for a fact that a fresh brew of cav just got laid in. Go on and grab yourself a decent meal. Your head-tech will report to you later before you join your squad for the patrol."  
  
Jack snorted. "Don't remind me about the patrol. By the time we get around to it, that mess'll be back and we'll be slogging about in mud up to our eyebrows."  
  
Rai smirked. "At least you'll have all that lovely rain to wash it away with."  
  
"Yeah, see – there's you _thinking_ you're funny and here's me _knowing_ you're not," Jack retorted, but he nevertheless gave Rai a comradely whap to the shoulder and turned to walk off through the temple, heading towards the mess hall first.  
  
Rai watched him go; noticing the weariness in the tall, lean body that Jack was clearly trying to hide. He sighed and hoped that Spicer would have sense enough to curl up somewhere and get a nap, but knew the lure of Chase was too powerful and would overrule common sense.  
  
When the former goth had disappeared from view, Rai turned back to watch the reconstruction for a few moments before walking away to go find his fellow monks for a brainstorming session.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
Chase was sitting up against the stiff headboard of the bed, fighting a losing battle. He hated this. He hated feeling sick and weak like this, he hated still having hang-on nightmares every time he fell asleep, he _hated_ being cooped up in this one tiny room and still feeling too shaky and tired to even leave the bed most of the time.  
  
He hated his _hair_.  
  
In prison, it had grown out slightly longer. It had snarled and torn, and worked itself into knots and kinks. When he'd first been brought here they must have washed out all the filth from the vines, all that blood that had dried in patches. But the _tangles_...  
  
He looked up when the chime to his door sounded, announcing a visitor. Before he could snarl at whoever it was to go away, the door had already opened to reveal Jack Spicer standing there.  
  
Jack stepped into the room carrying a tray of hot foodstuffs, and with a ready grin.  
  
The grin fell away at the cold, malevolent glare Chase aimed at him.  
  
Jack assessed the situation as best he could and palmed the door shut behind him. Then, staying by the door, he said, "I realize the situation isn't the best, but don't you think tearing your hair out is a bit drastic, Chase?"  
  
A scowl. "I'm not tearing it out," he snarled, tossing the kinked locks he'd been working on back over his shoulders. "Just trying to get the damn knots out." He watched Jack step forward into the room.  
  
"Well, you're going about it all frigged up," Jack announced. He walked forward and caught hold of the lone chair in the room and pulled it close to the bed. He started to ease himself down into it, still holding the tray.  
  
Chase narrowed his eyes and pulled his lips back slightly. It was back again, that weird wall between them. The one that kept Jack out, and kept him from knowing exactly what was going on behind those cold gold eyes. "I haven't seen you in some time, Spicer," was all the warlord said, in a calm, business-like tone.  
  
Jack checked his descent for a brief moment as he felt the thin ice-blade of tension knife through the air. Then, he forced himself to calmly settle down and cross his legs by resting the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other, and balanced the tray on his crooked knee and thigh. He glanced over at Chase and scratched his chin through the prickly growth of black bristles that he hadn't found a free moment to shave off.  
  
"I've been busy," he said. "Bean's using the weather against us, and repairs are a top priority." He picked up a food from the tray, looked at it, and then offered it to Chase with a devilish grin and a waggle of his eyebrows. "Care for a churro?"  
  
Dark black eyebrows raised upward, and Chase's yellow Asian eyes slanted down. "No," he said, more matter-of-fact than rude. He gently pushed the offered foodstuff away. Jack frowned.  
  
"Alright; suit yourself," he said, and took a bite of the hot burrito-esque food. He'd been hoping Chase would remember that time, long ago, during the mess with the green monkeys when he'd visited Jack's then-Lair, and Jack had fallen all over himself offering refreshments in his glee at Chase being in his home. He'd been hoping for at least a smirk, if not an outright laugh.  
  
Quickly, hungrily, Jack finished the churro and then drained half the mug of hot cav – the Resistance's version of coffee – and then wiped his hands and mouth with the napkin.  
  
Despite being hungry, however, he couldn't face eating the rest; not when things seemed to be tense between them again.  
  
Jack sighed. "Okay, Chase – it's obvious something's buggin' ya. What's up?"  
  
The man shook his head, bored-eyed, not really looking at Jack. "Nothing's 'up', Spicer," he growled.  
  
Distantly from outside, thunder was sounding again. It was a faint rumble out beyond the trees, vengeful and deep. The storms were coming back – the wind, the hail and rain. The brief window of serenity that Raimundo had granted the temple-base was closing quickly. "I'd like to get out of this room," Chase said, a murmur as dark and ominous as the building storm outside.  
  
Jack frowned as he glared up at the ceiling. A glance at the watch on his wrist let him know that it was ten minutes shy of the two hours Raimundo had predicted. He wasn't terribly worried; he had faith that his crew had finished the repairs fifty or so minutes ago, even without his stopping in to check. He just did _not_ want to go out on patrol in that crap.  
  
Sighing, he turned his frown to Chase. "That's why you're sitting here – mad as a wet hen and tearing your hair out? Because you want to go for a stroll down Main Street and set back your recovery even further?"  
  
"Feh." Chase turned his face away. He was not going to mention the nightmares or the restless unease; the weird melancholy that's been aching at him. "I've been holding still for fifteen years," is all he says. "I want to get _out_ now."  
  
Jack continued to frown. He knew – just knew – that there had to be something more to it. Way back when, he'd known Chase to have the patience to sit still for hours upon hours; never moving a twitch. This undisciplined restlessness had a different root, but one he couldn't – or wouldn't – get at just yet.  
  
Still, it was unlikely Chase would do anything to seriously jeopardize his health. So, if Jack were with him, it should be alright.  
  
Setting aside his dinner, Jack sighed and got to his feet; ignoring the weary creaking of his bones and muscles.  
  
"Fine, then," he said, and held out a hand to Chase. He offered a smirky grin. "Time for you to go walkies."  
  
Oh, if glares could kill. If he'd been better health, Chase's might have been able to. But his desire to _leave_ this room he'd spent weeks confined in overrode his anger, and he simply scowled and took Jack's hand, allowing the man to help him get up to his feet.  
  
Jack grinned back unashamedly. He'd waited for so long to see Chase – talk to him, tease him, touch him – that he couldn't pass up any opportunity when it was handed to him.  
  
However, he knew when to curb himself, and so he said nothing about the shakiness of Chase's stance. He helped the man up and then tactfully eased his grip until Chase was supporting himself, though Jack would remain close by in case Chase needed him. At the last moment, he glanced at Young's hair and said, "Ahhhh... do you want to do something about your hair, first? I can comb it out for you so you don't pull your scabs open. It won't be the latest in-vogue style, but at least you won't have to walk around looking like two shag mops mated on your head and had babies."  
  
"Excuse me?" Chase snapped. He wanted badly to reach behind his head and comb his fingers through that parts he hadn't been able to reach, but Jack was right, about one thing at least – raising his arms like that would make the just-healing cuts open up again and bleed.  
  
After a moment of thought, the man pulled his lips back in a half-snarl. "Fine," he growled. "Whatever. Do what you will, Spicer." And he watched the other man warily.  
  
Jack sighed. "Chase, would you rather face the problem head-on – no pun intended – and do something about it? Or be in denial, walk out, and _hear_ everyone talking about it?" Opening the drawer on the bedside table, he pulled out a functional, plain comb, and then stepped behind the ancient warrior. "Being bitchy won't help any. Now, hold still."  
  
He began at the top of Chase's head and carefully began picking out the snarls as he went; trying to be gentle so he wouldn't tear the man's hair or hurt him.  
  
"I don't suppose you'd consider cutting it off?" Jack asked.  
  
They were close enough that Jack could plainly see the way the man's shoulders and back tensed at the suggestion. Chase scowled. "That's nothing I haven't had to do before, Spicer," the man said lowly. And it was true. He _had_ had to cut his hair before. All of it. Once as a boy, against his will. And several times since then, because he'd had no other choice.  
  
Jack continued picking out the snarls calmly. "Easy, Chase; don't get your back up. It's only an option I'm offering. I'll help you keep the hair if you want it. This is just going to take a while."  
  
"It's not like I don't have the time," came the growly reply. And then they went silent. Chase stared at the wall, feeling the soft tugs and pulls against his scalp as Spicer worked with the locks. He was separating them out into dreads, tactical and efficient. Maybe it was all the work with building robots and designing machines – his hands were quick and deft, and the feel was not unpleasant.  
  
Jack snorted softly as he worked methodically. "That's fine. Truth is, I can't picture you with short hair."  
  
He had worked his way halfway down Chase's head when he paused on untangling the snarls and simply combed through the unkinked hair. The strands had a ripple and curl that hadn't been there before, but Chase’s hair had been essentially braided for fifteen years.  
  
Jack combed slowly through the untangled top half, scratching lightly against Chase's scalp with the comb. After a few seconds of that, however, he knew he had to get on with it, and so he slid his left forearm under the thick, heavy mass of hair and lifted it up so he could begin unsnarling from the bottom up.  
  
Chase was quiet. Not talking or reacting, just standing still. "Why can't you imagine me with short hair?" he asked abruptly, after so much time had passed from the comment that it almost didn't make any sense.  
  
Jack smiled as he worked. He knew the hair by the base of the neck would be exceptionally sensitive, so he was exceptionally careful. He didn't mind; he'd wanted to do something like this for years, if not for the reason why he was doing it.  
  
"I dunno. I guess it's because I've only ever known you with long hair," he finally said. "I mean, I discovered you by accident years ago in a history book in school. The really, really old sketch that had been included with the text showed you standing over a fallen warrior. Even then, you had long hair. No different from when I met you; same armor, same hair, same scowl/smirk thing going on. Total badass. The instant I saw you, I wanted to _be_ you more than anything. At the time, I didn't know you were still real – still alive."  
  
Jack then tried to picture Chase with short hair and ended up snickering. "Anyway, your hair is so cool-looking. Not many men could pull off hair like yours, but you do it perfectly. Besides, I have a theory that your hair is needed to form the spike-fringe that runs along your back when you're in lizard mode. I don't know what kind of weirdness would result if you suddenly lost most of it."  
  
Chase's snicker echoed Jack's. "I don't need it for the 'fringe'," he said. "That would be there anyway. Transformations are always the same. The raw firmament would just have to rearrange itself from somewhere else... The hair does help, I suppose."  
  
Jack had worked his way far enough down now that Chase was able to turn his head, though somewhat painfully, and look over his shoulder. His expression was bemused and slightly disgusted.  
  
"I'm in a _textbook?_ "  
  
Jack couldn't help it: He laughed.  
  
"Yeah, you're in a textbook. Probably several, but the only one I saw then was a history on China. You'd have been somewhere in your fifth century after turning to the Heylin side, at the time the text was talking about. You were being used as an example of the fighting style of the time; I forget which, exactly. Your name wasn't being used; you were just tagged as some anonymous warrior that had been depicted from some long ago observer's point of view. I didn't care. I had never seen anything so cool in my life."  
  
He was quiet for a moment, and then added, "Haven't seen anything cooler than you since."  
  
Chase's expression was indifferent again, returned to the coldness. But the corner of his mouth twitched up, just for a second, before he turned away again.  
  
Jack decided not to comment, and instead continued working his way through Chase's hair. He had completed little more than half of it when he let out a long, lusty yawn.  
  
Chase shifted slightly. "Tired, Spicer?" the question was drawled, sounding more bored that inquisitive.  
  
"Yeah, sorry. I haven't caught more than a few five minute cat-naps here and there. Like I said, we're all being run ragged."  
  
A pause. "Perhaps bringing me here was not the wisest choice you could have made, then." The statement was cold: A fact and an observation. It jarred the easy mood of the ever-present tension between them slightly.  
  
Jack frowned. "There _was no choice_. We were getting you out of there – end of song. And where else were we supposed to stash you? In some hole in the ground somewhere? Fat chance. Hannibal's been pissed at the Resistance for years. Having you around just means he's crankier than usual. _We_ have the choice of either adapting or getting our heads handed to us, and speaking for myself, I _like_ being tall."  
  
Chase didn't laugh. There was another long pause between the two of them. "Guan's been captured?" The question was sudden; something under the growl of the man's voice cutting through just for a moment and making his tone somehow more... human, in a way. But he didn't sound like he really needed an answer. "You... the Resistance, I mean... You should have tried to get _him_ free. Bean and I have a personal score to settle. Freeing Guan would have caused less trouble."  
  
Jack sighed as he got to the tail end of Chase's hair and began unraveling the snarls there.  
  
"Yeah, Guan got captured. Omi and Jermaine were in trouble, and he went after them. When the dust settled, _he_ was the one that got taken, not them. Omi was the one who had to be sedated _that_ time. As for freeing him... we will, when we get the chance. _You_ have been the top priority since the beginning. Even _Guan_ said that you _had_ to be freed. Besides, we could get to you once we got the Serpent's Tail. Hannibal's prison system is set up so that the most dangerous are stacked down towards the bottom. _You_ were at the very last level. Guan's a few levels above your old cell."  
  
Very lowly, Chase made a thoughtful noise. But that was all. He was working something out in his mind... cold lizard thoughts mingling with hotter, human thoughts. It couldn't be explained. It was all sight and smell memories, instinct – plans for revenge, forged within a halfway demonic mind.  
  
"I see," he said, after a time.  
  
And again, the talk between them stopped.  
  
Jack worked through the last of the tangles and took a moment to pull any stray strands from the comb. He was about to throw them away when, at the last moment, he decided to pocket them instead. After he'd done that, he pulled the comb carefully through all of Chase's hair, from top to bottom. He noticed how Chase's bangs spiked forward naturally, no matter what he did, and wondered if that were residual demon magic or if Chase just had "free-range" hair.  
  
Finally, however, the hair was neatly untangled – though a little fluffy from being combed out. It still looked a hundred times better than it had, and Jack noticed with interest that it cuddled about Chase's hips and buttocks, rather than stopping at the small of his back as it had years ago.  
  
"All done," he said, and walked over to put the comb away again.  
  
Chase ran his long fingers through his hair, experimentally at first, like he was expecting to get caught on remaining snarls and snags. But there were none. It was all smooth, as full and easy as it used to be; as full and easy as it hadn't been in fifteen years.  
  
He ran his fingers through again. And again. There was a glimmer of... something, in his eyes. The ghost of a smile on his face. It _was_ important to him. Whether that was vanity, or simply a kind of pride, a kind of remaining human attachment to something as simple as his hair, it was impossible to tell.  
  
His eyes met Jack's across the room. There, the coldness melted for just a fraction of a second; just enough that honest gratitude was evident on the man's face. "Thank you," he said. And he sounded like he meant it.  
  
Jack grinned back instantly. "You're welcome," he replied, genuine pleasure in his voice. Then, he gestured at the door and said, "After you," before gathering a churro from his plate. He clearly intended to eat while they walked.  
  
They went out, Jack after Chase. Already, the sky was getting dark again. Thunder was humming off in the distance and the wind was picking up slightly, carrying the first very small drops with it. The real storm itself would probably still hold off for a bit longer, but the weather was obviously taking a quick turn back for the worst.  
  
The temple-base was still busy with activity, different squads rushing to get their different jobs done before the rain started hitting hard again. Chase went along the walkway a few paces, one hand on the railing for support, though he was not obviously leaning on it. "Well, Spicer," he said, looking out at the forest, and the base that the Resistance had built. "This is... more than I had expected..." He turned to face Jack. "Lead the way."  
  
Jack chewed and swallowed the rest of the churro, brushed off his hands, and started ambling along the walkway. Truth be told, he was glad for the slow pace. He was exhausted, and he'd rather move slow and conserve his energy for the patrol than power-stride anywhere just now.  
  
Chase followed along; a slow, graceful figure in a simple gray tunic and loose gray trousers, his feet bare. As they walked, personnel hurried past them from all directions. A polite, respectful nod and/or greeting to Jack, and either a curious or disdainful glance at Chase without a word to him, was the general interaction, but no one slowed to talk. Everyone had tasks to perform, and wind, water, and Heylin waited for no man or woman.  
  
As they walked, Jack pointed out various things: Local gathering spots; shortcuts here and there; the community message board where anything of a tasteful nature could be written or tacked up; small meditation corners; the larger meditation hall; the mess hall.  
  
Chase remained quiet through all of it. His expression bore no particular emotion – just the old boredom, eyes half-shut and mouth relaxed into an almost-frown. He nodded every so often in response to things Jack had said, though there was no telling whether he was being approving or disapproving. Only once, as they were passing by a sparring ring that had literally been suspended between three large trees, did he stop to take a closer look.  
  
There was a group of a few very young monks practicing there, with a single adult watching and instructing. The ring didn't look like it could really stand any serious training, but this was just... just beginner's practice. A whole new generation. Monks as young as Omi, Kimiko, Clay and Raimundo had been when Chase had first met them. As young as Jack had been.  
  
The man stopped staring when Jack came back and stood curiously beside him. Their eyes met, but the barrier created by Chase's suddenly icy expression kept all emotion out. "Lead on," he said, as though it had been Jack rather than him that had stopped to watch the ring.  
  
Jack frowned. He glanced over to the sparring ring where the "chibis", as he called them, were taking their lesson from Xiang Tzu. When the chibis turned during an exercise and saw him, they broke formation and waved at him, smiling, until Xiang barked at them to get back into focus. Jack spared a nod for the kids, who looked up to him with the same respect they had for the Four Dragons; a fact that still amazed and impressed him after all this time.  
  
He looked back at his companion, and was met with the frozen, indifferent mask. "Chase—“  
  
"I'm impressed," was all the man said, pacing away from Jack and looking out at everything again. His tone had gone hard and cold as stone, all-calm-business again. He'd crossed his arms over his chest. Oh, that was a familiar pose. Even without the armor, even though it was obvious he had lost weight from illness, there was something intimidating about seeing him gather himself up like that and bar his arms over his chest.  
  
"If all these people and this whole base have lasted so long against Hannibal Bean, then I am very impressed." A sigh, almost too brief and quiet to catch... The random, erratic raindrops were getting a little heavier now.  
  
Jack snorted. "Sure, and any day now, you're going to put on a tutu and Swan Lake your way into the mess hall as a show for the troops."  
  
When Chase glared haughtily at him, Jack sighed and shook his head. "Come on, then. I'll show you my work station. Maybe you'll pretend enthusiasm with that better."  
  
He turned and began walking away.  
  
After a moment, Chase followed slowly.  
  
They hadn't gotten very far when a rattling, thumping noise of several feet came running behind them, and small voices began calling out, "Chief Jack! Chief Jack!"  
  
Jack stopped and turned, and then offered a tired grin when the kids who had been in sparring lessons a moment ago ran up to him. "Hey, chibis. What's up?"  
  
The younglings looked from him to Chase and back again. Finally, one boy – a red-head with gray eyes and copious freckles – took a deep breath and asked, "Are you goin' to your station, Chief?"  
  
"Thought about it," Jack said amiably. "Why?"  
  
"We were wonderin' if you'd let us join you," said a black girl with almond-shaped eyes and soft brown skin. "If we aren't interrupting."  
  
Jack grinned. "Your dad had a talk with you about that, huh?"  
  
The girl grinned back and didn't say anything.  
  
"Well, let me ask my company," Jack said, and then turned to the man standing beside him. "Chase – you mind if the chibis tag along?"  
  
Chase looked from Jack to the children and back again. "No," he said, easily enough. They started walking again and the man hung back, avoiding the clump that had formed around Jack. For someone who had been so terribly friendless and unpopular as a child himself, Spicer seemed to have a special bond with these little children. Chase simply looked away from them, though he was aware that they all kept sneaking curious looks at him.  
  
Jack walked along easily, one hand each held by a child. He was aware that Chase was lagging behind on purpose, but he kept glancing back occasionally; just to let the man know he wasn't being shut out.  
  
"Dad says you an' your squad hafta patrol the Wasteland Border today," said the little black girl.  
  
Jack snorted. "Jermaine ought to keep his mouth shut."  
  
Jermaine's daughter snorted back. "But the rain's gonna make it _extra_ dangerous!"  
  
"Luchia, me and my squad have patrolled the Border a thousand times before, and we'll do it again. Rain or none, we know what we're doing. Don't be such a worry-wart," Jack replied, squeezing her hand.  
  
"But, Chief, you look like you're about to fall down," said the redheaded boy.  
  
"Yeah – you're almost as bad looking as that guy!" said another girl, pointing back at Chase.  
  
An awkward pause, in which Jack's eyes widened and Chase simply stopped walking, and all the children froze and their wide eyed stares wavered between the two men. Chase took in a deep breath and let it out sharply, then grinned. His grin was frightening, fanged, and the slanted pupils of his eyes shrank down slightly – it was a predator expression, no mistake. "I've looked worse," he said, that deep low growl of a voice grating with what could have passed for either dark amusement or irritation.  
  
Probably, it was a bit of both.  
  
"And anyway..." The grin became more of a smirk. "I've seen Jack looking worse, too."  
  
Six pairs of eyes went wide and suddenly, all chibi-attention was riveted on Chase.  
  
"Excuse me, mister, but... you know the Chief? I mean: _Really_ know him?" asked one small Latino boy.  
  
"Hmph. I knew him when he was only as old as you look," Chase said. Though at first, he was obviously speaking to the boy, his eyes flicked up. He watched Jack through his long black eyelashes, still smirking slightly. "Jack Spicer, Boy Genius... isn't that right? He was just a _child_ when I met him, and he fell right into my arms." Chase gave a rough laugh, and not a particularly nice one.  
  
Chibi eyes went even wider.  
  
"You knew the Chief when he was just a regular kid like us?" breathed the girl who'd called him "bad-looking." She was a mousy-looking thing; plain brown hair, pale skin, brown eyes set in a plain face.  
  
"If 'regular' is a word you could ever use on Spicer, then yes." Chase nodded slowly. "I did know him, a long time ago." Another pause. "...Weren't you taking us somewhere?" he addressed Jack sharply, obviously giving the cue that he was tired of answering questions.  
  
Jack took the hint. Before any of the kids could ask more questions, he turned around and said, "Time's wasting, chibis. You can either pester Mister Chase or you can come along to my station."  
  
The kids took the hint, and fell into step obediently.  
  
But, every so often, they glanced back at Chase with awe in their eyes. Awe that this stranger they didn't know had known one of their most favorite adults when Jack had been small like them.  
  
However, they didn't put up any fuss, and so Jack led the way – slowly – to his work station at the back of the Temple complex.  
  
When the small group walked into the laboratory/factory where the inventions were invented and maintained, the tech-engineers working in the complex paused to watch the strange sight of their chief conducting what seemed to be a tour.  
  
Jack saw Chase tense out of the corner of his eye and fixed the techs with a stern look. "Not enough to keep you occupied? Really? Well, then, allow me to help."  
  
Quick mutters of "Uh, no, sir!" and "Thanks anyway, Chief!" were given, and the techs turned back to their work.  
  
Sighing, Jack led the way to his station – which was a mess. He'd forgotten to clean it up when he was last there. Thinking quickly, he said, "Okay, chibis... the Chief needs your help. Think you can get this squirreled away nice and neat?"  
  
Small, piping voices rose in affirmatives and the younglings swarmed forward to begin tidying Jack's workspace while he settled wearily onto a stool as Chase came to stand by him.  
  
"Shall I feign enthusiasm?" Chase murmured, mocking Jack's earlier comment. He swept his gaze over the children scrambling to clean, and the workspace that was cluttered with schematics and various mechanical parts.  
  
Abruptly, Jack was too tired to play the game anymore. He didn't know what he'd done that had prompted Chase to put so much distance between them again... and at the moment, he didn't care.  
  
Shrugging, he said, "Can if you want. Or you can just go walk-about through the Temple. I really don't give a damn."  
  
He hauled himself off the stool and walked away to gather up his schematics, leaving Chase where he was.  
  
Chase stared at Jack for a moment, and then simply shrugged. He turned and left without saying anything more, walking back the way Jack had taken them all and turning down a side hall that opened up into the warm light and welcoming entryway of the temple interior.  
  
Jack watched him go with a pang in his heart. He'd hoped, secretly – and he chided himself for it – that Chase would choose to remain with him. But, he realized it hadn't been likely. Chase was a loner on a good day; to be surrounded by a bunch of staring strangers and cheeping chibis was probably more than he could take at the moment.  
  
With a sigh, he helped the kids clean up. Perhaps he'd have time for a nap before the patrol. God knew he could use one.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
The inside of the temple was different from the rest of the base. It had a timeless quality to it. Candles were lit, casting a warm glow against the cool stormy light coming in from outside. A few ragged monks sat in meditation, chanting softly and thumbing strings of prayer beads. Chase could see what looked like Guan's hand in designing some of the walls... there were big statues, mythic figures.  
  
Chase felt his shoulders relax slightly. This... this kind of place... there was something about it that felt like home. Not his home, exactly, but just a home. A place to be. A place to close his eyes. He slid past the monks, to the back of the room, and pulled himself up onto the low base of one of the larger statues, and then closed his eyes.  
  
Chase was just... tired. He couldn't shake this sad feeling that had followed him from the Vines and the dark. This ominous feeling. It was making him angry, because stormy, silent anger was his response to almost everything. It was making him feel... empty, almost. Torn up inside. He scowled, angry with his own weakness.  
  
Omi watched Chase from his hidden place in the shadows of one of the statues. His heart hurt for the gaunt man who was a shadow himself – of himself. He could sense Chase's resentment, and emotional chafing, and frustration. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Omi could recall the time when he'd looked forward to the defeat of Chase Young.  
  
Now, he'd give anything that it had never happened at all.  
  
Seeing that Chase was very much to himself, Omi sighed and got to his feet. He made his way over to where the man sat, legs crossed and folded, and waited.  
  
Chase didn't need to open his eyes to recognize that it was Omi – the monk had a signature aura, a warmth. "Omi," he greeted, inclining his head slightly. He felt the other man climb up and sit beside him on the stone. There was familiarity between them, a bond between them that had existed since the very beginning. There wasn't any doubt of that.  
  
In Omi, there was a... glow. A spark that reminded Chase of his own lost soul. And of the soul that had belonged to his brother; his _dearly_ beloved brother. Dashi's energetic spirit. Dashi, who had _not_ given in to the temptation of immortal youth... Dashi, who, like so many other beloved things the world had shown Chase, didn't exist anymore.  
  
"What are you doing here, young one?" Chase used the moniker he'd used on Omi years and years ago, even though it made no sense now. Like Jack Spicer, Omi had grown up in Chase's absence.  
  
Omi smiled slightly to hear the old nickname. Chase's use of it spoke of a fondness; a link between them that the man was loath to let go of, and it warmed him.  
  
"If you would like the flippant answer, it is that I was sitting in here, contemplating my navel," Omi said quietly, his voice somber. "If you would like the honest answer, it is that I was sitting in here, wondering if the madness will ever stop; if we shall ever see Right restored to the world."  
  
Omi was quiet for a moment, and then he added, "I saw you, and I thought perhaps you might like an attentive ear for your troubles."  
  
Chase pulled in a deep breath. "Troubles," he repeated with a sneer in his tone, but it wasn't sharp edged. It was just tired. "What could I possibly tell you? That I spent fifteen years strung from a wall being tortured and humiliated? That I came back into a world that had been brutally changed, and conquered by my loathsome enemy? You know that already." He opened his eyes to slits, just a flicker of yellow under the long dark lashes. "It's nothing I can put my finger on," he admitted, more quietly. "It's... nightmare things, thoughts... I feel ill at ease."  
  
Omi nodded. He did not know what to say, and so said nothing at all.  
  
Instead, he reached over and put his hand on Chase's; curled his fingers around, and held the man's right hand firmly – offering comfort the only way he knew how.  
  
If it had been anyone else, Chase would have jerked away. But Omi was... Omi. A brother spirit. A timeless spirit, golden like the sun. Like Chase himself, and like Dashi and Guan. The man bent slightly, touched his brow against the monk's in a brief gesture of gratitude. It had been such a long, long fifteen years.  
  
And so, of course, that was when Jack entered.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
Jack had seen the kids back up to the upper walkways and sent them off to their respective homes. Then, he had gone in search of Chase; unwilling to let such unpleasantness rest between them. He wanted, at the very least, to apologize; to admit that he _didn't_ not care.  
  
Asking questions led him to the meditation temple. Scrubbing his face briskly, Jack took a deep breath and psyched himself up. He was just about to enter when a few bedraggled looking monks came out, muttering quietly and shaking their heads. They paused when they saw him, eyed him intently, and then left.  
  
Jack shook his head, bewildered, and stepped into the meditation temple.  
  
And froze at the sight of Chase and Omi, bent together, foreheads touching and a look of contentment on the faces of both men.  
  
"What – the – _hell?!_ " he shouted, unable to contain his anger, hurt, and resentment.  
  
Chase and Omi shifted apart, their muscles tensing for battle readiness – though Chase's complained mightily – and they looked towards the doorway; both of them wearing identical expressions of indignation at being interrupted.  
  
Jack stalked over to where they were sitting. He looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment.  
  
Then, quietly, he snarled, "So. I get it. I do all the hard work; all the thinking and planning to get him out of that hell-hole, and you schmooze in and take my... take..."  
  
"We were simply talking," Omi said, getting down cautiously. Chase followed, getting to his feet so that he stood directly in front of Jack.  
  
Jack scowled down at Omi, and then back to Chase. In his boots, he was slightly taller than the other man, but if he were barefoot himself, they'd have been eye-level. "Most people don't get all snuggly when they're _just_ talking."  
  
Chase’s dark eyebrows drew together slightly, but not enough to form a true frown. "You're jumping to conclusions," he said simply. "That, Spicer, was hardly 'snuggly'. We _were_ simply talking."  
  
There was a long pause, in which the two of them held each other's gazes. "Nothing is being 'taken' from you, Jack. Are you finished with your work?" the man asked, tone neither warm nor cold. Just... a question.  
  
Jack felt the indifference clear to his soul. He wanted to scream, to cry; to whine that it wasn't fair.  
  
Instead, he clenched his jaw tightly and said, very coldly, "Yeah – I'm finished here."  
  
He speared a bitter look at Omi and added, "I never even really started. He's all yours."  
  
With that, Jack turned on his heel and stalked out of the meditation hall.  
  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
  
"North by northwest sweep. Perimeter watch only; non-aggression unless we fall under attack. Maintain radio contact at all times. If anyone goes silent, assume he or she has been attacked and prepare accordingly. Buddy up and roll out."  
  
Jack issued the orders to his squad in a cold, emotionless voice. It scared the men and women under his command to hear him speaking in such a way, and they wondered what had happened to cause it.  
  
Still, they were all well-trained, and knew that the Wasteland Border was _not_ the place to have a sudden "share your feelings" coffee clatch. They split off into pairs seamlessly and rode off in several compass points; on the lookout for raiding parties by either the Hounds of Hannibal Bean or the Wasteland Rejects – the savages that lived in the small patch of land that bridged the Forest and the Nowhere Land.  
  
Jack's "buddy,” as always, was Syrianna. He trusted her with his life, and she was his friend, besides.  
  
Because they were friends, Jack avoided the intently questioning looks Syri kept aiming his way as they drove their dune buggy styled armored rides along the Wasteland Border.  
  
Maybe, if he hadn't been trying so hard not to think about Chase and Omi and what they might be doing while he was out in the muck and the rain, he wouldn't have been taken by surprise.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
Chase hadn't ever gone back to bed. He'd wandered the temple, sometimes with Omi and sometimes without, and eventually made his own way back to the infirmary. He was tired and sore, but the fresh air had made him feel a little more alive, at least. He stood leaning in the doorway of his room, arms crossed and eyes closed, listening to the heavy rain and wind of the storm.  
  
Then, distantly, sounds of discord started erupting from other walkways.  
  
Chase straightened up as the cacophony of noise – voices shouting babble at full volume and the rumble of booted, running feet – came closer and closer.  
  
His eyes narrowed, his ears hurting a bit with the noise, as a group of torn and bleeding Resistance fighters came around the bend. Others, uninjured, were with them, working to help carry wounded individuals. From the opposite direction, medical technicians came running to assist.  
  
Chase shrank back slightly into his doorway, not wanting to get in the way as the bustling group began passing him.  
  
Movement caught his eye and he craned his neck around to see the Four Dragons come running along the walkway, their faces pale and set with fear.  
  
Chase blinked and then looked at the wounded individuals again.  
  
Just in time to see Jack Spicer's bloody, slack, unconscious face go sliding past, borne by three men and a woman.

 

Instinctively, Chase stepped out into the hallway, his attention focused on Jack as he was loaded onto a stretcher and hauled away into the emergency room. More medical technicians came to tend to the rest of the battered team; cleaning up their less dramatic wounds.  
  
Three bodies – horribly mutilated and bloody – were set on stretchers off to the side and covered with sheets that soon soaked with red wetness.  
  
"Syri!" called Kimiko, and the woman who had helped carry Spicer looked around; a grotesque cut across the bridge of her nose spreading blood down her cheeks.  
  
"What happened?" Raimundo rasped as the monks drew to a halt by the wounded; staying out of the way of the medicos as they worked on staunching the blood and patching together what needed patching.  
  
"Hounds," Syri snarled, and tears glittered in her wrath-filled eyes. "A team of Hounds ambushed me and Jack. They were going specifically after him."  
  
"I don't get it," Clay muttered, frowning mightily. "Jack's a crackshot; he can take out Hounds, no problem."  
  
Syri shook her head and then shivered as a hypo-spray of pain reliever was unloaded into her system.  
  
"He was distracted out there," she said. "Something was eating at him – and it almost got him eaten."  
  
Clay, Kimiko, and Raimundo gasped softly.  
  
Omi turned tortured eyes to Chase, who looked back at him coldly.  
  
"Jack... he was yanked out of his buggy," Syri said, fighting to keep her voice under control. "He went down in a spray of blood, and two of 'em were tearing into him, and I had my own to deal with but I fought to get him, yelling for help, and the others arrived, and so did more Hounds... We got 'em all – killed them all – but they gutted Hernandez, beheaded Shripken, and tore Delmont's spine right out of his body. The rest of us took a beating, but we grabbed everybody and hightailed it back to base."  
  
The monks and Chase and the medicos listened with grim determination.  
  
When Syri was done with her recital, the medico working on her loaded a new hypo-spray, touched it to her neck, and injected the spray into her. In seconds, she was swaying on her feet, and the man led her over to a gurney just in time to get her laid out on it as the drugs kicked in and put her to sleep.  
  
Chase was tight-lipped; face a mask as he watched the woman Syri being taken away. For him, this whole scene was being taken in on so many more levels than the others could even dare to imagine. He was dragon on the inside, after all – demon on the inside. A monster with heightened physical and mental senses. He could smell internal blood, gore and terror. He could smell that _stink_ that the Hounds always had on them, clinging to the wounded bodies of those who had come into close contact with them.  
  
And the sound... oh, the sound. The moans and groans were there, of course, but Chase could hear more. He could hear them breathing; _all_ of them breathing, individually, and the rush and gush of their hearts. That was the worst. The bum-da-da-bum of panic and pain... it was everywhere.  
  
But the one bum-da-da-bum that he really wanted to hear, the one rushing heartbeat, had been taken too far away for him to make out. He turned back to the monks, who were standing close and talking quietly amongst themselves.  
  
"...should have said something – should have stopped him," Omi was saying, voice full of such deep worry and regret. He had his head in his hands. Clay had thrown an arm around him.  
  
"Aw, pardner, maybe it wouldn't have even done any good. I mean: Damn, look at this... It wasn't just a run-of-the-mill strike..."  
  
"He was tired to begin with. Worn out. I noticed it when we were repairing the bridge," Raimundo put in. There was guilt and regret in his voice as well; the raw pain of a leader who had failed those depending on him. "I should have seen this coming. I could have taken his place, or doubled the patrols..."  
  
"Everyone we could spare _was_ out in the patrol," Kimiko said quietly. "Jack’s squad, Jermaine’s, Alonna’s… We can't send out that many people and leave the base unguarded, Rai." She brushed the back of her hand against the back of his, trying to comfort, but Raimundo only shook his head.  
  
Chase turned his eyes away. There was some dark and devious emotion rising up in him, now. It wasn't guilt. Not anger – at himself or any of the others. It felt... sharp, almost; a weight under his ribs – an urgent and chilling sense of dread, and need. When the monks started walking through the crowded walkway, in the direction that Jack had been taken, the warlord followed them quietly.  
  
What they found was chaos. A medical team was clustered around Jack's body. A tray of instruments – including a thick piece of rubber hose and a huge needle – were waiting off to the side as IV solutions and monitoring equipment were hooked up to the unconscious man.  
  
A doctor reached for the tray, and spotted Chase and the monks hovering in the doorway.  
  
"Put on masks or get the fuck out of this room!" the woman snarled, and snatched up a scalpel.  
  
One of the medical team whirled about, opened a drawer, pulled out a box of surgical masks, and threw them to the monks before turning back to do his job.  
  
Quickly, the five of them pulled masks over their noses and mouths, and stood off to the side to watch and wait.  
  
The scalpel cut into the side of Jack's chest between his ribs, going deep. A moment later, the thick piece of rubber hose was inserted into the slice. As soon as it went in, a river of blood began pouring from the open end of the tube. A medical technician was waiting, and had a bucket waiting to collect the blood.  
  
Kimiko made a gagging noise and turned to bury her face against Clay's chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight; his face grim as he watched. Rai was shaking, and Omi held his face in his hands.  
  
Chase watched – strangely fascinated in a detached way.  
  
While Jack's blood was draining through the tube, the scalpel flashed again and the middle of his chest was cut open. A technician used a spreader to keep the edges of the incision apart while the doctor reached for the needle. She stuck the needle into the sac around Jack's heart and slowly began to draw blood into the syringe. When that one was full, she was handed another, and did the same again, and then again.  
  
Medical technicians called out Jack's vital statistics and the doctor issued orders flawlessly without pausing her work, while her staff gathered the necessary equipment.  
  
Finally, the doctor reached for surgical tools that would enable her to begin repairing the parts of Jack that had suffered so badly.  
  
Another technician was sewing up a gash in Jack's thigh; another was putting a dressing on a belly wound but not working on it at the moment; not wanting to get in the doctor's way.  
  
After nearly an hour the monks decided they'd seen enough and left the emergency room.  
  
A few moments later, Chase followed slowly with a last look at Jack.  
  
They were directed to the scrub room where they could ditch their masks and then they left the medical center to retreat to a nearby meditation garden; Raimundo leaving word that the doctor was to fill them in as soon as she had a moment.  
  
None of them said a thing to each other. All five simply sat, quiet, in the meditation garden. The monks were struggling to brace themselves for the possibility of Jack's death.  
  
When Jermaine joined them, his dark face ashen and his eyes glassy with shock, they still said nothing. Raimundo and Omi offered their hands, and Jermaine sank down to sit by them, gripping their hands tightly.  
  
Jack had become a friend, of sorts. Luchia, especially, adored Jack, and it would hurt her terribly if he were lost. Jermaine was trembling with nausea at the thought he might have to tell his little girl her friend was gone.  
  
Chase sat away from them, and away from the lamps. He was just a shadow under the shadows, as inhumanly still as the stone statues that lined the garden. If he was even really breathing, it was hard to tell. The only sign of living presence that he gave at all was the occasional flicker of a yellow eyed gaze, roving back in the direction of the operating rooms.  
  
By the time the doctor joined them, the little group had expanded to almost twenty individuals. Luchia had sought out her father and had settled into his lap for a cuddle, her small face somber with fear and grief; her brown eyes glittering wetly as she waited, fearing the worst.  
  
When the doctor arrived, all conversation stopped immediately and, as one, the group waiting to hear Jack’s condition faced the woman expectantly.  
  
The monks, Chase, Jermaine and Luchia were front and center.  
  
“He’s alive,” the doctor said first, knowing it was what they wanted to hear most.  
  
A resounding cheer went up from the group behind the seven in front.  
  
When the noise had died down, the doctor continued.  
  
“It was a _very_ near thing; you have no idea how close,” she said. “Jack had sustained a hemothorax and a cardiac tamponade; meaning, when the Hounds stabbed his chest with their claws, the area around his lungs had filled with blood and so did the sac around his heart. The blood packed around the organs, compressing them so they couldn’t function properly. Either one of those two traumas can cause cardiac arrest and death within minutes; how he made it back to base without succumbing to his injuries, I don’t know. What I _do_ know is that had the team arrived a minute or two later, it would’ve been too late.  
  
“Now, we drained away the excess blood and sewed up the wounds that caused the leaks. Jack isn’t out of the woods yet, but if he makes it through the next few days, then I’ll be very optimistic. He is going to be out of commission for a while. When I clear him for work – note that I said ‘I’, and not ‘Jack clears himself as he usually tries to do’ – it will have to be a light workload, or he’s going to undo all my hard work.”  
  
Raimundo grinned tiredly. “Thanks, Delia. When can Jack get visitors?”  
  
“We’ll put him in ICU in a few hours; we have to let him stabilize. Keep in mind, he still has that chest tube in him. He’s probably going to have it for weeks because of how close he came to not getting it in time. Anyone who visits him – be prepared to see it. There will be fluid draining from it, and Jack will be on a ventilator to make sure he’s breathing properly. He’s going to be asleep for a long while, and when he wakes up, he’ll probably be loopy from pain meds.”  
  
“So what does that mean?” asked one of the tech-engineers.  
  
“It means that if you want to have meaningful conversation with Jack, you should probably wait a few days – closer to a week,” Delia replied acerbically.  
  
With that, she left the group where they were standing. She had patients to see to and reports to file.  
  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
  
Chase and Omi entered slowly into the private ICU room where Jack was resting. They'd been told they had ten minutes, and a nurse would shoo them out if they didn't leave before then. Chase moved slowly because his body was abominably sore. Omi moved slowly because he was reluctant to see his sometimes-friend so badly injured – especially as a result of his own thoughtlessness.  
  
A breathing tube was pushed down Jack's throat and taped in place. Three different IVs were attached to him, pumping fluids and medicine and painkillers into his body. The chest tube was discreetly covered, but not blocked, and blood trickled from it into an attached bag.  
  
A pulse ox was wrapped around one finger, measuring the oxygenation of Jack's blood, while a smaller tube disappeared beneath the light blanket covering him, between his legs. The ventilator machine was pushing air into Jack's lungs, forcing them to expand normally, and then allowing the lungs to passively exhale. A flat-screen monitor set into the wall displayed Jack's vital signs.  
  
Jack had sustained a deep gash over his forehead and small cuts along his cheeks and jaw. It was obvious that the Hounds had been going for his eyes and throat, but he'd managed to protect himself from that damage. Bruises were everywhere, and so were the tell-tale lumps of bandages. His white skin was a sickly gray, and dark circles shaded the skin around his closed eyes.  
  
They were both silent for a time, unmoving and unspeaking, before Omi let out a stifled sob. He brought his hand up over his mouth and turned partially away; dark, epicanthic eyes wet with tears that had been previously held back. For a moment it looked as though the sight was just too much, and the monk might turn and leave. But, in the end, he found a chair and pulled it up to Jack's bedside, sitting in it with his legs drawn up and his face somewhat buried against his knees.  
  
Chase went around to the other side, moving stiffly. His exhaustion was evident, but overset by a kind of grim and stubborn power of will. He unfolded another metal chair and lowered himself down into it, then sat as solemnly and immobile as he had remained in the meditation garden. His yellow eyes were fixed on Jack, the grievous wounds, and the machines currently keeping him alive.  
  
"Chase Young..." Omi spoke quietly. Only a few of their ten minutes had passed, but it felt like much longer. "This shouldn't have happened. We should have reassured him..." He trailed off sadly.  
  
"Perhaps." Chase's voice was quiet and cold, void of emotion but very tired. "It has happened, though, young monk."  
  
A silence hung heavy in the air, filled only by the beep and hum of the monitoring machines, and the drip-drip of IVs. Omi stretched his hand out and hesitated, then lowered it to oh-so-gently touch Jack's. The monk lifted the man's fingers slightly and bent his own head down, pressed the glowing seven star mark on his brow to Jack's battered knuckles.  
  
There didn't need to be words. It was all there: The long years of friendship and animosity; the fact that Omi and Jack had been children together, a long time ago, and had grown up together in the same world full of dragons and showdowns, robots and witches.  
  
Letting go, Omi leaned back in his chair with a glassed look on his face. Chase said nothing, and made no move. Only watched the rising and falling of Jack's chest, until a nurse came in and gently ordered the both of them out.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
Late, late at night. The base is quiet, except for those on nightshift. Many monks are in meditation; a lot of people in silent prayer – for the nightmare to end, for their own personal wants and needs... for friends and family hurt or gone.  
  
The ICU section of the base hospital isn't much different. The patients are too ill to be all that lively. The only real movement is from the nurses making their rounds, every hour on the hour: Checking vital signs, dispensing medications, making sure the patients were comfortable; measuring the "intake and output" of each patient for satisfactory hydration levels; making notes on the charts and then leaving to get some more work done or to take a quick break before the next round in an hour.  
  
Jack's room is dark, with only a soft bar of light set in a recessed alcove above his bed to provide light enough for the nurse checking his vitals to see. She emptied his catheter bag, measured the output, replaced the bag, and then left after making sure all of Jack's connections were connected properly and his dressings had been replaced.  
  
The door was locked, but that meant very little. Chase swiped Jack's own security card through the slot, and the red light on the panel blipped to green. The inner bolts pulled back from the door, and the man turned down the handle and let himself into the room.  
  
The same sounds were there, filling in the quiet. The blips and beeps, the drips and soft hums. In the near dark, Chase can see perfectly clearly. His normally narrow pupils open wider, a predator's gift of natural night vision. He makes his way across the room easily and gracefully, footsteps falling without a sound.  
  
This time instead of folding out a chair, he remains standing by the side of the bed. This time he's by himself with Jack, and can truly look and think. All the aches in his body – the deep down pains that haven't healed yet – go ignored. This is a meditation, of sorts. A secret with and within himself. Chase Young looks down at Jack Spicer, and there it is – everything that's ever happened between them, been felt between them, said between them – resting in the beep-drip of life supporting machines.  
  
Chase can remember a wide eyed boy: Enthusiastic and energetic and tactless. He can remember dozens of irritating mishaps, clumsy behavior, overjoyed greetings. "Chase!" – That way the boy used to say his name, in a squeal of delight.  
  
He can remember later years, when battles over Shen Gong Wu turned into the first hard struggles against Hannibal Bean. He remembers a teenage Jack. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Still bright eyed, still so... so alive. Full of life, overflowing with it. Things between them then had started to change, just slightly. Jack's childhood was falling behind him – a strong and brilliant young man was emerging out of all those lonely years of being pushed aside, and bettered, but not giving up.  
  
If things had been different... if Hannibal Bean had not gained so much power so quickly, and if Chase had not been locked away for that long span of fifteen years...  
  
The man shakes his head; abruptly ended the retrospective line of thought. His attention focuses back on the present – the man lying so very still and hurt on the bed in front of him.  
  
"Jack," Chase says softly. The word is barely just a push of breath. And of course, there is no answer. Just the bleep-bleep, the drip-drip, the silence.  
  
"You fool boy," he says, equally quiet. "Foolish." He takes another step closer and bends over Jack; over the bed and all the wires and the jutting tube. He brings their faces very close, so that his golden gaze is piercing down toward Jack's closed eyes.  
  
"My foolish boy... my beautiful boy." Chase bends the last few inches. He presses his lips against Jack's brow, beside the bandaged cut there. It's a warm touch, full of everything that's been held back, and all the time that was stolen from them.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
Dark. Constantly dark. Overwhelmingly dark.  
  
He hated the darkness.  
  
A long, long time ago, he had been afraid of the dark, but that was before the dark had stolen away the one thing he’d ever truly given a damn about. From that moment on, he’d hated the dark. And then, just as he’d thought there’d been a light at the end of the tunnel – or, if not light, then at least a lighter shade of dark – that light had been stolen away from him again.  
  
So now – darkness.  
  
And pain.  
  
That’s how he knew when he was conscious: By the increase in pain.  
  
Of course, ‘conscious’ was a relative term. Despite the darkness and his eyes being closed, Jack had a very keen sensation of dizziness and horrendous pain, which prompted him to force himself back into the haven of unconsciousness. Sometimes, for those brief, annoying moments between naps, he was aware of voices around him. He couldn’t focus enough to understand the words the voices were saying, but by tone and pitch, he knew who was with him. He heard Rai, Kimiko, Clay, Omi; Syri and Jermaine and Luchia; some of the other “chibis”; some of his tech-engineers, some of his squad. And with each return to darkness, Jack felt a pang in his soul at the absence of one particular voice.  
  
Until _now_.  
  
Conscious again. Pain, pain, pain. Slightly better than before, but still – ow. _Much_ with the ow-making. In fact, his brain was chanting a mantra of “Ow-ow-owie” steadily, non-stop… until he heard that missing voice speak to him.  
  
He heard Chase say his name; soft and deep and firm. Jack wanted to wriggle with joy, only to feel the bliss douse itself a moment later when he heard Chase call him a foolish boy. Warm, moist breath puffed gently against his face, and Jack realized, foggily, that Chase’s face was very close to his. He felt a thrill race through him, and the dizziness increased slightly.  
  
And then…  
  
“My foolish boy… my beautiful boy” – followed by a pair of firm, warm lips pressing against his forehead; just to the side of the throbbing, stinging pain centered up there.  
  
The word “beautiful” echoed continuously in Jack’s mind, and he felt so elated he could barely breathe.  
  
He had to see Chase.  
  
He had to.  
  
Several seconds later, he finally forced his eyes open.  
  
Blurry darkness was all around him, but he could make out dim colors and shapes. Jack discovered he couldn't move his head or neck very well, so he flicked his eyes around sluggishly, trying to search Chase out.  
  
And then, Chase moved into view deliberately. The gold eyes were only a few inches away from his, and Jack held the man's gaze for as long as he could; extremely reluctant to drop his own stare for fear that when he looked again, Chase would be gone.  
  
He wanted to say the man's name, wanted to say he was sorry – for what, he wasn't sure; only that he was. He wanted to pull Chase closer, hold him close, kiss him and never let go... but he could barely even twitch his fingers. He stared, somewhat myopically and a lot desperately, into Chase's gold eyes; so focused on the warlord that he never noticed the breathing tube in place, helping him breathe.  
  
There was stillness and quiet for a few long beats. The man simply looked down, and their gazes simply held. Chase could see all that intense, raw emotion in Jack's red eyes, fogged as they were by pain and heavy medication. The man sighed, bringing a hand up and very carefully brushing Jack's hair back from his face. "We live because we have the will to keep living, Jack... Because a strong heart can live as long as it wants to." He bent down close again, bringing their faces just bare breaths away.  
  
Yellow eyes glinted in the dark, bright from the inside as well as reflecting a shallow glow from the light bar in the alcove. "You've got a strong heart... such a strong heart. Put it to use now." There was a growl under the words, but a kind of comfort as well. Jack's eyes closed and then opened again, closed and opened. Chase leaned forward and pressed his lips against the trails that tears were leaving, gentle and slow on each cheek.  
  
It was only by focusing, with all of his strength – the strength Chase claimed he possessed – that Jack could understand what the man was saying. The words overwhelmed him. They were so much what he'd wanted to hear from the impressive warrior for years and years; so much, and yet, different.  
  
That Chase believed him to be stout of heart – believed him to be able to withstand the horrendous injuries done to him, and persevere as well – filled him with a rush of warmth as he hadn't felt since that long ago day when he'd toppled from the sky and had landed safely in Chase Young's strong, secure grip.  
  
Tears flooded his eyes and he had to blink to empty them out. When Chase bent, and Jack felt the man's lips on his cheeks, tracing the wet trails, he blinked again, and more tears slipped free.  
  
Feeling himself fading fast, Jack struggled to move his left hand even a fraction of an inch. He managed it – enough so that Chase calmly caught hold of it and curled his own hand around firmly; holding Jack's hand with a finality that meant so much to the traumatized man in the bed.  
  
Catching Chase's gaze with his own, Jack forced his fingers to work, to squeeze down hard. When he felt Chase's hand squeeze back, Jack blinked slowly, once, and then let his eyes close for good; slipping down into the dark once more... intent on healing himself.  
  
Chase didn't move for a long time. He remained by the bedside with Jack's hand in his, a dark shape, still as a guardian statue. When the security lock on the door rattled and blipped, he stepped back into the shadows. The nurse who came in was murmuring softly to herself – she did not notice the flash of golden eyes or the shape that moved off to her right, slipping along the wall, and stepping back outside into the night.  
  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
  
Early, early in the morning, the rain stopped. The clouds remained, dark and moody and threatening over the temple-base, but the downpour had just completely stopped. All at once. So suddenly it seemed unnatural, and the abrupt lack of noise woke a few of the monks from deep meditation.  
  
But no one was complaining. No rain meant repairs and new projects could get started, and the younger monks could start their training again. The place sprang back to life, and everyone was busy. Everyone had some job to do, some injured friend to visit, some new form that needed to be practiced.  
  
The morning eased into noon, afternoon, and night again. Hours passed and nothing... _nothing_...happened. It had been so long. So long since the forest temple had passed a totally uneventful night. It was a welcome rest.  
  
Raimundo and Kimiko went out together, in place of the patrols. Even for the nastiest monsters the forest and the border had to offer, fire and wind were powerful opponents. But the night was quiet. The forest was full of only its natural paranormal nightlife, nothing more or less.  
  
When they got back, Raimundo was uneasy. He went and found Omi, and pulled the other monk out of a lesson he was giving. "Dude..." The man's voice was just a whisper, low and husky and urgent. "Do you know... where _Chase_ is?"  
  
And then, after it was already much too late, the four Dragons figured out what had happened.  
  
It was quiet.  
  
It wasn't raining.  
  
Chase Young was nowhere to be found.  
  
  
*~*~*~*

 

 

Jack was insanely bored.  
  
He was trying to stay awake for longer periods. The longest he'd lasted so far was five minutes. He was trying for ten this time, but it was difficult. Weariness was dragging at him: A combination of drugs and pain and exhaustion. But he had to start forcing himself to stay awake.  
  
He had to get better.  
  
Chase had said so.  
  
The first time he woke up after Chase's visit, Raimundo and Clay had been there to greet him. The next time, Syri. The time after that, Jermaine and Luchia. Now, as he stared at the ceiling, Jack wondered who'd be by to see him.  
  
He hoped it would be Chase.  
  
In his drug haze, he never noticed the rain had stopped pounding overhead.  
  
The door to his room beeped and Jack rolled his head to the side for a better view, hoping his wish was being granted.  
  
But, instead, it was all four Dragons together.  
  
Jack's stomach went a little sour at the sight of Omi, but he didn't say anything beyond: "Hey, guys."  
  
All of the monks smiled back reflexively as they shut the door and came over to join him.  
  
"Hey, Jack," said Raimundo in his raspy voice. "How's it hangin'?"  
  
"Long and loose," Jack replied with a smirk, and then yawned.  
  
"Gross," Kimiko said, but there was no true disgust in her tone, and when Jack looked at her, she was grinning at him.  
  
"How are you feeling, Jack Spicer?" Omi asked quietly.  
  
Jack glanced at the little yellow monk with studied indifference. "I have more holes in my chest than a piece of Swiss Cheese, and a tube sticking out from between my ribs besides. How do you think I feel?"  
  
Omi blushed crimson and lowered his gaze.  
  
Clay put his hand on Omi's shoulder comfortingly, but he was looking at Jack as he said, "Easy, pardner. Omi's told us about how you went off half-cocked, thinkin' they were canoodlin' behind your back. They _weren't_ , but you didn't listen none, so take it easy on him, okay?"  
  
Jack scowled. "In order for them to be 'canoodling behind my back', there'd have to be something between me and Chase, anyway. There isn't. If Omi wants him, then why not? It isn't like Chase has any use for me, if he ever did."  
  
But even as he said it, he remembered that quiet, strong voice speaking to him out of the darkness; remembered that strong, steady hand holding his own tightly until he fell asleep.  
  
"I do not want Chase Young in the manner in which you speak," Omi said, his voice firm. "I do not fancy men as you do. Chase is merely a friend. We understand one another."  
  
Jack narrowed his eyes and looked away.  
  
"Jack," Raimundo said, and he gently put his hand on one of Jack's blanket-covered knees, "you didn't see Chase's face when you were brought back in. He had the look of a man who was losing something important to him."  
  
"Yeah," agreed Kimiko. "Right before he shut down his face, like he always used to do when he didn't want anyone to know what he was thinking – or feeling."  
  
Jack blinked, and then bit his lip. He remembered bits and pieces of events long-past. He could remember the way Chase would close off his expressions if he wanted to be "alone" in the presence of others. Chase only ever did it when he was feeling threatened.  
  
After a moment, he said hesitantly, "He really did that?"  
  
Clay nodded. "While we were all holding vigil for you outside. He sat with us – well, not really _with_ us, but nearby, y'know. And his face was like granite; not a damn thing was moving, except for that whatever it is that lurks behind his eyes where his soul used to be. _That_ was roiling around like a tornado."  
  
Jack blinked again. The thing Clay was describing was what Jack had taken to calling Chase's "dragon spirit." True, the man no longer had his eternal soul, but _something_ had to take its place to keep him functioning. Jack figured it was the dragon essence in the Lao Mang Lone soup.  
  
That essence only flared to life when Chase was ready to murder something – or someone.  
  
He sighed tiredly and let his head fall back to rest comfortably in his pillows. "Yeah, okay... I get it. I was an asshat. Sorry."  
  
"Since when has that ever stopped you?" Rai joked, and got a shaky, but defiantly upraised middle finger for his trouble, and the four Dragons laughed.  
  
A minute or so later, they were all trooping out of the room silently. Jack had lost the battle for consciousness and was now snoozing away, but with a definite reduction of the tension he'd been carrying around.  
  
The four monks walked down the corridor after locking Jack's door. They were out on one of the main walkways before Raimundo sighed and said, "Well, that settles it."  
  
"What?" Kimiko asked, her voice weary.  
  
Rai glanced at his friends somberly, but kept walking. "We don't tell Jack that Chase has gone missing. If he finds out, it'll set back his recovery."  
  
"You think he'd get depressed and go all catatonic or something?" Clay asked, concerned.  
  
Rai shook his head, but Omi was the one who spoke up.  
  
"No, Clay. If Jack finds out Chase is gone, he will most likely kill himself trying to get up and go _after_ him."  
  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
  
He'd done this before. A thousand times before, probably. But it had never been this _painful_ and slow before.  
  
The desert stretched out in front and behind him. The dirt was gray, cracked and powdery, and it went from horizon to horizon in every direction. The sky was red. It hadn't always been. Chase remembered it as gray. He'd _made_ it to be gray; like he'd had a hand in making all of this, long ago... his desert. His Nowhere Land. Once upon a time, he'd felt so at home here.  
  
He didn't anymore.  
  
Whatever warped evil Hannibal had created in the world had seeped into the desert as well. It was the villain's inverted miasma, taint and twist of natural things. It made the very _air_ rank, and hard to breathe. Chase was doing his best to keep it off, to shove it from him with his own dark aura... but there was just so _much_.  
  
It'd been three days, but he wasn't really counting. After leaving Jack's room, Chase had used the man's security card to get into a locker. He'd pulled out a black stealth suit and all of the small gadgets and weapons inside. It wasn't armor... wasn't a staff or a sword, or anything he was used to. But he didn't care. It was for _fighting_ in. That was enough.  
  
The sun was hot in the dark red haze overhead, but it only affected Chase's exposed bits. Wherever he was covered by the suit remained a steady, comfortable temperature. The material felt very strange against his skin; it was not a natural fiber, but then, he supposed the Resistance would have to develop clothing that would be difficult to destroy.  
  
He expected Jack had a hand in the design, if not actual construction. It seemed like a very "Jack" idea.  
  
The shirt was a long-sleeved thing with a high-neck; what was once called a "turtleneck," if he recalled correctly. It clung to his body, but moved as he moved, so it was not terribly uncomfortable – just different.  
  
The trousers, though, were a definite irritation. He was used to loose cotton or silk around his hips, thighs, calves; to be snuggled so closely by oddly-textured material was discomfiting, but he would have to adjust before he arrived at Bean's stronghold, or the distraction could get him killed or recaptured.  
  
There was just dirt and death, dirt and death as far as he could see. He could see, clearly as a hawk, for many, _many_ distant miles. Small discomforts faded into a working rhythm, after a while. It all became part of a backdrop of travel – step after step, thinking and breathing and ignoring the pain, pointed in a direction toward the worst place in the world. As he’d walked, he’d devoted attention to the gadgets and weapons that had come along with the suit; examining their construction; matching them against any weapon he’d seen previously that seemed even remotely familiar so he could determine how the weapons worked. It was a basic rule of combat: Never go into a fight without a clear understanding of how the chosen weapon or weapons worked, unless the person holding the weapon fancied being short a body part or three when something went wrong due to ignorance.  
  
If he was going to go into a fight – if he was going to face the Castle of Monsters and its lord – then Chase wanted to know his weapons very, very well.  
  
Hannibal Bean knew he was out here. Not where, exactly, as Chase was very good at hiding whenever and wherever he wanted to. This was _his_ gods damned desert, after all. Even if it had been mangled and manipulated by his one great enemy, the land still knew him and obeyed him. If he wanted to remain unseen and undetected, that was easy enough.  
  
But every so often, he'd catch sight of a black speck high up in the sky, off to the west. A spy... a monster in the sky. Sometimes a whole flock of them. They knew he wasn't with the Resistance anymore. They knew he'd come out of the forest.  
  
He didn't care. He didn't give a flaming damn. Let the spies spy. Let them fly back to their small, warped master. Others had already come to test him.  
  
He had taken a great deal of satisfaction in decimating the Hounds that had attacked him. He had left them in a bloody arrangement of his initials – just for his old _friend_.  
  
Now, he walked; forward, intent on getting to the Castle of Monsters. His tiger instincts were fixed on Guan's location; on the faint sense of his three remaining warriors.  
  
He would get them all out.  
  
It was only a matter of time.  
  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
  
Jack was waiting when the door opened.  
  
As soon as the person on the other side stepped through, he growled: "He's gone, isn't he?"  
  
Omi froze, barely into the room, and looked up at Jack with wide eyes.  
  
Jack could see the small man's mind racing to come up with a little white lie, and he bared his teeth in a snarl. Throwing back the covers, he started to swing his legs towards the edge, intent on getting out of bed.  
  
Omi did the only thing he could think of: He bellowed for help.  
  
"RAIMUNDO!"  
  
A moment later, the Brazilian monk was filling the doorway behind Omi. Right behind him was Clay and Kimiko.  
  
"Whoa, Jack, slow down! Where do you think you're going?" Rai snapped, stepping forward past Omi.  
  
Jack aimed a dark glare at Pedrosa. "I figured it out, Rai. I remembered some of the things Chase said. That dumb-ass has gone after Hannibal Bean, and _I'm_ going after _him_."  
  
"I'm thinkin'... no." With that, Rai snapped his fingers.  
  
A moment later, Clay grabbed Jack from behind, hauled him back onto the bed carefully, and then pinned him down to the mattress. Moving swiftly, the other three employed the restraining straps that were built into the hospital bed and had Jack tied down by the wrists and ankles.  
  
"Hey! No! Get off of me! Let me _go_ , goddammit!" Jack shouted, straining to get free despite the pain in his chest and legs.  
  
"Watch your mouth, pardner," Clay rumbled, though he was smiling. "We've got a lady present."  
  
Kimiko glanced at her friend and rolled her eyes. She heard worse every day, but now wasn't the time to pick a fight about Clay's archaic attitudes.  
  
Jack gave Clay the Glare of Death. "If you don't untie me this instant, Bailey, I'm going to be saying a whole lot worse!"  
  
"We can fix that," Rai warned, and put his hand significantly on his sash. The "rank" sashes the Dragons wore were the only ornamentation to their clothing that they allowed themselves. They had earned their sashes, and they weren't giving them up.  
  
Jack growled at him. "You wouldn't dare."  
  
"Yes, we would!" Kimiko snapped. "We're not about to let you get yourself killed by going after him! We don't know _where_ he is, anyway!"  
  
"But, I thought we—“ Omi began, only to have the others give him a stern look. He shushed instantly.  
  
Jack jerked again and wriggled, trying to get free of the straps. "Don't even," he growled. "I figured it out. The rain stopped. Why else would it stop unless Chase has gone to lay the smackdown on Bean?"  
  
"What makes you think—“ Clay began.  
  
"Because of what he said!" Jack interrupted. "Back before I went out on patrol... before we toured the temple. I helped him comb out his hair. He said... at one point, he said it would've been better if we'd gotten Guan; not wasted any time on _him_. He was really adamant about Guan being freed."  
  
The monks looked at each other. Then, Raimundo sighed.  
  
"I hate to admit it, but that makes it even more likely he's gone to the Castle of Monsters," Pedrosa murmured.  
  
"Yeah, sounds like it," Clay agreed, and the others echoed the sentiment.  
  
"Great. We're all in a frenzy of agreement," Jack snarled. "Meanwhile, he's facing Hounds and Monsters and Bean, and his own injuries. _Why_ are you all here? Why haven't you gone _after_ him?"  
  
"Because it'd be _suicide_ and you _know_ it," Rai snapped back. "Here's the facts: _Your_ securi-card was used to swipe a stealth-suit _and_ the Serpent's Tail. Chase _isn't_ entirely vulnerable out there. Plus, he's still got his martial arts skills, and we all know he can throw down like whoa. Do we really want to send a couple of teams after him, get them killed, when he can probably do better without having others along to get in the way? Serpent's Tail means he's using stealth. He's not launching some huge attack. Chances are, he's gone to get Guan."  
  
Jack opened his mouth to argue, but Kimiko interrupted.  
  
"We've already reached a compromise with the Leader," she said. "It's been a week since he left. He didn't take a vehicle _and_ he's not strong enough to teleport – we know that much. So, that means he's on foot. By now, he's there. In a few days, we'll station patrols along the Wasteland Border to keep an eye out for him and render assistance as needed."  
  
Jack glared silently at the ceiling. After a long, long moment, he finally said petulantly: "I don't like it."  
  
"That is obvious, Jack," said Omi. "But it is the best we can do for now. We do not like it, either."  
  
Jack snorted. Shifting his arms and legs, he said, "You can take the straps off now."  
  
"You gonna try to vamoose?" Clay asked with an edge to his voice.  
  
"I _want_ to," Jack said, and sighed roughly, "but I can't. Just trying to get out of these damn things has me hurting like hell. I'd never even get past the Border."  
  
"You need meds?" Rai asked, concerned.  
  
Jack flexed his body and then winced, nodding.  
  
"I'll go get the nurse on duty," said Kimiko, and she left the room while the others began undoing the straps.  
  
"Seriously, Jack," said Rai quietly. "Don't try to go after him – at all. You gotta let Chase do this, even if it isn't practical."  
  
Jack sighed. "Yeah, I know. But I'm gonna _kill_ ‘im when he gets back."  
  
Clay laughed. "Thanks for the warning. We'll get started on the tickets to _that_ ropin' contest."  
  
Jack tilted his head and gave Clay a narrow-eyed look. "Be elsewhere. Really."  
  
Grinning, Clay reached out to mess up Jack's hair with one big, beefy hand. He ignored the offended growls and mutterings that resulted and sauntered out of the room.  
  
Omi bowed to Jack, wished him a pleasant evening, and followed the cowboy out.  
  
Rai looked down at Jack for a long moment. Then, with a sigh and a grin, he reached out to smooth Jack's hair back into some semblance of neatness.  
  
"We're just worried about you, man," he said.  
  
Jack blinked slowly and nodded; his skin gray-toned with fatigue, fear, and pain. "I know it. I'm just scared, Rai."  
  
"He'll be back. He's _way_ too ornery to not come back."  
  
"You've been hanging around Clay too long."  
  
Rai grinned and headed for the door just as Kimiko and the nurse arrived. A quick moment's conversation, and then Kimiko stuck her head in the room and said, "Get some rest, Jack. You can bitch him out when he gets back, but you're going to need your strength for it."  
  
Jack sneered. " _He's_ the one who's gonna need help by the time I'm through with him."  
  
"If you can stay awake that long," said the nurse with a cheeky grin, and he inserted a syringe into the port in Jack's IV and fed the powerful painkiller into the IV drip.  
  
"Screw you," Jack sniped.  
  
"No thanks – I'm not into necrophilia, and you're as close as can be," replied the nurse, and then the man left after checking to make sure everything was where it needed to be and making a note on Jack's chart.  
  
Jack wanted to snap after him, but the medicine was already taking affect; numbing the pain and making him drowsy. He was barely aware of Rai and Kimiko calling out "Sweet dreams!" before he fell away into the softness of sleep.  
  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
  
Breathing heavily, Guan pressed tightly against the wall he was hiding behind. Every so often, he peered around the corner, keeping an eye on Chase and the cats' exit progress. As soon as Chase had gotten his warriors through, he would join them, but he didn't like being out in the proverbial open like this; it made him uneasy.  
  
Then again, being clothed in nothing but a wall hanging that Chase had ripped down from its mooring for him had a way of making him feel exposed, too.  
  
There! Finally, the last cat was through and Chase was turning and gesturing for him to come forward. Yellow eyes were narrowed in vicious battle lust, glinting in the shadow-shrouded hallway they were in. For a moment, Guan had to fight back a chill of fear at getting near his old friend/old enemy. Then, he shifted into a ready stance, took a few deep breaths, and pushed himself into running.  
  
Laser-fire from the sentries hiding in the stairwell nearby snapped and snarled at his heels, but Guan pelted past; never slowing until he came closer to Chase.  
  
And then, gods damn it all, the wall hanging slipped just a bit and his foot caught in a fold of fabric, and he went down with a hard thud.  
  
"Grah!" Chase made it to him in three long leaps and hauled him back to his feet, leaving the wall hanging where it lay. "Clumsy! Careless!" the warlord snapped. He was angry, half lizard-formed in the heat of the battle, but there was still warmth bred from long familiarity riding under his tone. Clumsy, careless... it was a taunt he'd used hundreds of times before, on hundreds of different occasions.  
  
Guan heard it, recognized it – the old teasing phrase Chase had used on him back when they were mere children.  
  
Before the world had gone to hell.  
  
Before Chase had accepted Hannibal Bean's foul offer.  
  
To hear the old phrase of playfulness warmed him and gave him new strength. Guan grinned at Chase, feeling elation surging through him as he started to step forward towards freedom.  
  
The twin energy blasts that slammed into his back – one low, punching through a kidney; another high, in the middle, punching through his spine – knocked him forward towards the exit with a brutality that was shocking in its abruptness.  
  
He was so startled, he wasn't aware that he screamed.  
  
It happened fast. Too fast. The man was ripped away from him, and for a moment it was all Chase could do to register the blood that had spattered across him, and across the floor toward the exit.  
  
The laser blasts fired again. Chase ducked and streaked sideways, rebounded off the wall and leapt up into the air. He tore the thing apart – it was an abomination: Old magic and new technology, a floating orb of gears and spells and gun power.  
  
It crashed to the floor with him on top of it.  
  
Chase stepped off and away, leaping over the rubble in the hall and making it to Guan's side. Before he even saw the damage, he knew it was too much; too much to repair, too much to undo. He could smell the blood spilling from too deep internal places.  
  
Guan coughed blood onto the floor as he was rolled onto his side. He knew because he could see it happen; he certainly couldn't feel it.  
  
He knew he was dying. He knew there was nothing that could stop it.  
  
He rolled his eyes up to see Chase looking down on him; grim and fell with despair and a shattering, howling rage glimmering out of those frightening yellow eyes.  
  
"Free..." he managed to say, his voice a ragged whisper. "Die... free..."  
  
A solemn nod. Chase disappeared for a moment, streaking back to the fallen orb and tearing out the internal tank. He returned with it under his arm, and hefted Guan up once more. The motion made blood gush out onto them both, but it didn't matter anymore.  
  
Here, at the end of a sometimes-friendship that had spanned across hundreds of years, there was very little that really mattered.  
  
They got outside, and down the steep rocky slope that led away from the castle. The cats were beside them, limping and breathing heavily, loping as closely as they could to Chase. The fact that there were only three – a lion, a tiger, and a black jaguar – made it easier for them to keep up. Three cat-warriors: The only ones left alive after Hannibal Bean had slaughtered the others in his rage when Chase had been stolen from him.  
  
The ground was littered with fallen Hounds, monsters ripped to shreds, stone smashed and bloodied. The mess left from Chase's entrance into the castle. So though there were obstacles to streak around, they were not attacked again.  
  
Guan hung upside down, draped over Chase's shoulder. He supposed his mortal wounds were a blessing, as he couldn't feel anything. He knew he’d have been screaming his head off if he could still feel; what a mess that would have caused.  
  
Even as he chuckled at his own morbid humor, Guan realized he was coming that much closer to death, and there were things he still needed to say before he could go on with a clear conscience.  
  
"Chase..." he called out; unable to put much strength behind the words, but knowing it wasn't needed. The man could probably hear each individual drop of blood leaking into his body cavity.  
  
"Chase..." he said again as Young kept going; the cats straggling along as best they could. "Stop... need to say...."  
  
"You can't ever make anything easy, can you?" Chase murmured. But he did stop walking. They'd passed the border of the castle. When he put Guan down, it was on the gray sand of the desert. "What?"  
  
Guan gave his old friend a wan grin. Blood coated his lips and teeth and tongue; turning everything scarlet, pink, crimson.  
  
"Wouldn't... if not important," he said, forcing his lungs to fill with as much air as possible. "I missed... you. Always."  
  
A glint behind the yellow eyes. A flash of the spirit that replaced the soul, despairing and warming all at once. "I know you did," Chase said, and hesitated only once before laying a hand on Guan's head. It wasn't an apology, but it was a gesture that expressed everything else all at once.  
  
Guan smiled again at his old friend, hoping Chase could see the warmth in the gesture.  
  
Then, shaking, he gathered all of his energy and concentrated it on his right hand.  
  
Several seconds later, he collapsed with a grunting-sigh and his hand opened to reveal the mala beads he'd worn across his torso for most of his long life.  
  
"Omi..." he mumbled, feeling his strength draining away rapidly. "Omi... sorry... good friend... good... monk..."  
  
He saw, through the slits his eyelids had formed, the beads leave his hand as Chase gathered them up.  
  
And then, his soul quietly slipped away.  
  
Chase wrapped the beads around his wrist, doubling the loops until he was sure they would stay where they were. Then he looked down at Guan. This was the end – the end of the world Chase had known long ago, the world he had been born into as a mortal man.  
  
"Goodbye, my old friend." He bent and touched his brow against Guan's; held the man's head in his hand for just a moment.  
  
Then, he pulled the tank he'd ripped from the orb out from under his arm and broke it open over the body. Fuel spilled out, filling the air with an acid stench.  
  
Chase Young, who had been the Dragon of Fire a long time ago, snapped his fingers over the dead monk and ignited the blaze. A funeral pyre in the middle of Nowhere, at the end of the world.  
  
  
*~*~*~*

 

 

When the radio crackle of an open communication line sputtered through their headsets, every member of the patrol went on alert.  
  
"I have movement two clicks out," said the Resistance soldier parked in the southwest quadrant.  
  
"Can you confirm visual?" asked the patrol leader, pulling his vehicle around to be ready to take off at a moment's notice.  
  
"...." Static filled the channel and everyone waited for the soldier to report. And then: "It's him! Chase Young, and he's got... three jungle cats with him?"  
  
"Steady on! Standing orders were to expect him to show up with new 'guests'," replied the squad leader. "All sectors report: Anything happening in your neck of the Border?"  
  
The other members of the patrol radioed in that nothing was moving in their area.  
  
"Alright, then: Move out! Rendezvous at the southwest quadrant," the squad leader barked, and he and his patrol partner revved their vehicles and took off for the ordered area. As they went, the leader radioed back to base that the target had been spotted and they would soon have him and be on the way back to base.  
  
In roughly eight minutes, all members of the patrol unit were converging on the two soldiers parked out in the southwest quadrant. The leader took a moment to confirm the visual, and then he gave the order to drive forward, slowly, to meet the man walking towards them.  
  
Nearly two minutes later, the twelve of them were pulling to a halt in a half-arc in front of Chase Young, who had stopped to wait for them to approach.  
  
The leader got out of his vehicle and slowly walked up to the man who stood almost preternaturally still; only his hair moving from the almost non-existent breeze flowing over them. Narrow yellow eyes watched him with cold interest, and the leader paused when the three jungle cats – a lion, a tiger, and a black jaguar – bared their fangs in low, hellish snarls.  
  
"Chase Young, I'm Squad Commander Devon Johnson. On behalf of the Xiaolin Dragons, we're here to escort you and anyone else with you back to Base," the squad leader said, forcing his voice to remain calm and emotionless.  
  
The yellow eyes narrowed just a bit further, but the eerie man made no move to step forward.  
  
"Allow me to explain, Mister Young: You're not being brought in as a prisoner; we're only here to help you get home that much faster. Your friends are worried about you," Johnson added, knowing the man before him needed to hear that clarification.  
  
Thick black lashes swept down as Young closed his eyes briefly while letting out a quiet snort. When he opened them again, Johnson had to keep himself from gasping at the almost inhuman look in the gold orbs that seemed, impossibly, colder than before.  
  
However, Chase Young lifted his hand and made a gesture with two fingers towards the waiting vehicles, and then walked forward – past Devon – and climbed gracefully into Devon's vehicle, settling in the passenger seat as easily as if he'd ridden around in such a contraption his entire life.  
  
Only then did the cats walk forward, limping, moving slow and achy; their fur patchy, tattered, and blood-matted. Devon held perfectly still and waited until he heard the scrinch-squeak of heavy masses climbing into the armored buggies to turn around. He saw that the cats had chosen to occupy the vehicles closest to their master, but he made no comment – even when the drivers of the vehicles gave him wide-eyed, nervous looks.  
  
Instead, he climbed into the driver's seat of his own buggy and murmured, "Let's get you home."  
  
Again, a quiet snort from the dust- and blood-covered man beside him, but no actual words.  
  
That was fine with Devon. He really had no idea what he would say anyway.  
  
A few minutes later, twelve armored Resistance buggies were rolling swiftly across the last few acres of the Land of Nowhere, heading for the Wasteland Border and onward to their home in the Forest.  
  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
  
The new cut across his back was stinging. The old cuts were stinging as well. He and the three cats emerged at last onto one of the outer walkways of the temple-base, all of them limping and covered in the dust of the Nowhere Land. Chase wasn't speaking. Wasn't even really seeing what was in front of him. He got the cats to a nurse on duty in one of the wards – scaring the hell out of her, with the sudden and frightening appearance of himself and his ragged servants.  
  
She let them have a hospital bed, even if somewhat reluctantly. Chase bumped his brow down against the heads of each of his remaining warriors, bidding them rest and heal.  
  
Then he left, to go and find a different ward.  
  
The lights were out in Jack's room. Chase still had the security card with him... It felt strange in his hand, after everything that had happened. It was just a bit of plastic. He ran it through the lock and it made that soft blip, and he opened the door to Jack's room as quietly as he could.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
He waited, knowing the moment was at hand.  
  
Like Bean, Chase had _presence_ – a sense of being that announced his existence to anyone near the man, even if Chase didn't say a word.  
  
And so, Jack waited; hidden in the semi-dark. He watched the door open, saw the sliver of light that outlined a very familiar silhouette. He waited for the door to close and the lock to blip once more.  
  
Then, he struck.  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
Chase caught the vase, but just barely.  
  
It had come in a rather direct arch across the room, very fast and hard, right at his face. He snatched it out of the air with his right hand, as it came within just a few inches of his nose. "Not bad," he growled, bringing it down and glaring hard at Jack. "Though a waste of good interior decoration, if you ask me. Next time try it with a _knife_ and aim for my _back_."  
  
"Fine," Jack growled. "I'll yank out the one _you_ slammed into _mine_ and use that."  
  
"What – are – you – talking about?" The man spaced the words out, snarling each one lowly. The vase still in his right hand; he took a step forward. In the semi-dark, he was just a black shape with glittering yellow eyes.  
  
"Oh... so you _didn't_ walk out of here without saying goodbye and run off to get yourself killed?" Jack snarled, his red eyes glinting with emotion in the dim light coming from the glowbar in the alcove over the bed.  
  
A moment of icy silence. "As I recall..." The words were low and even, rippling with contained danger. "I _did_ come and see you before leaving, _Spicer_. And obviously, I am still very much alive."  
  
Jack scowled. "I remember you telling me, in your own weird way, to get better. At no point do I recall hearing you say you were going to go running off to get your small and silly self beat up on and... and... look at you! You look like eighty miles of hell-pounded road! You're beat up, covered in dust – oh, my God, is that _blood?_ – and you're bruised! What the hell were you trying to do?"  
  
"What do you _think!?_ " The man shouted it, striding forward again. " _What do you think, Jack?!_ "  
  
Jack blinked and reared back, his eyes going wide. He had never been shouted at by Chase – never. To be shouted at by him now startled Jack, and frightened him, too.  
  
But, he was still angry in his own right, and hadn't yet come down from days of fright and worry for Chase.  
  
"I don't know _what_ to think!" Jack shouted back, sitting upright in the middle of the bed. "If I _had_ to choose, I'd say I think you have a _death wish!_ Is that it, Chase? Were things so different when you woke up that you just couldn't hack it?"  
  
"Do not talk to me like that..." There was the undercurrent of a deeper, more demonic growl to the words. The edge of a transformation, just enough to make the air hot and static with dark energy. "Do _not_ talk to me about _death!_ You _do not understand_."  
  
Jack heard it. He heard the tone of "recent experience" in those words. He saw it in the way the corners of Chase's eyes and mouth tightened. He shivered, blinked, and asked, "Who?"  
  
Instead of answering, Chase let out a muted yowl and turned – and threw the vase against the wall. The supposedly hard-to-damage vessel shattered; exploded at once into a cloud of dust and fragments, shards scattering all across the room. The man had not truly transformed, but his claws and fangs were out, flashing in the dim light that glistened from above the bed.  
  
Jack gasped. Concerned, he shifted forward, intent on getting up, but stopped with a grunt as his torso protested. He settled back just as the door opened and the nurse came bolting in, only to stop still when Chase whirled to face her with a snarl.  
  
"Stay back!" Jack snapped, and the woman turned terrified eyes towards him. "Listen to me: He's hurt and upset. Page for Omi. I'll be alright with him. Just go and stay out."  
  
The nurse nodded, wide-eyed, and bolted from the room.  
  
A moment later, the door crashed shut from the roundhouse kick Chase lashed out with as he vented some of his rage.  
  
"Chase..." Jack said quietly, shifting carefully to the edge of the bed. "Was it... it's Guan, isn't it? He's dead."  
  
The only response at first was heavy breathing. Chase had his back to the room, and to Jack. Very slowly, the semi-transformation subsided. Long claws disappeared; long black hair stopped spiking outward to form the dragonish crest.  
  
"It was." The response was shallow. Matter-of-fact. Cold like ice.  
  
Jack hung his head. He'd gotten to know Guan a little bit; he'd liked the monk's dry sense of humor. "I'm sorry, Chase. I know that had to be rough."  
  
"You don't know anything." The man turned to face Jack again, expression cruel. He came forward, and that dark aura seemed to flare; to fill the room up with reptilian hatred, and sadness, and pure _loathing_. Chase closed in like the predator that he was, making the other man shrink back.  
  
Jack felt the hatred and pain slam into him like a physical attack. He recoiled, leaning back, and then gasped again and clutched at his ribs where the tube had so recently been. Breathing hard, he crumpled a little; sagging onto the mattress.  
  
When he looked up again, Chase was _there_.  
  
In an instant, the man was up on the bed on top of Jack. It was every bit like a wild animal taking down its prey. Every bit as ferocious and angry. But at the same time, the man was laying his weight down precisely – keeping Jack crushed down, but avoiding pressing down on all those deep wounds. "You don't," he said again, rougher this time. "You don't understand. You _could not_ ever understand."  
  
Jack was afraid, but that was nothing new. It was _normal_ to be afraid of Chase Young. But, he had learned how to accept fear and move forward, and so Jack firmed his resolve.  
  
Meeting Chase's eyes squarely, he said, "No, I couldn't possibly, could I? I only spent the last fifteen years thinking of _you_ every moment; thinking of how to get you out of that hellhole and awake and free again."  
  
"...You wasted the effort," Chase hissed. Very suddenly, he was too tired for this. He was bleeding again, on Jack as well as himself, but he didn't care. He could barely even feel it.  
  
"Why?" The man shook his head slowly. "Why are you like this? You've _always_ been like this... Why for me? You should have just left me alone..." It was almost a delirious statement. Chase bent down as he had once before, just before leaving the temple-base. He pressed a biting kiss against the smooth skin of Jack's neck, not roughly... but not gently, either.  
  
Jack gasped and shuddered hard. His neck had always been so sensitive; that was why he'd kept it covered most of the time when he was a punk kid, and still now that he was older.  
  
But to have _Chase_ doing this to him... to have Chase's mouth on his skin – kissing, biting, sucking – made the sensation that much more powerful. Instinctively, his hands scrabbled up to press against the man's chest and he tilted his head back and to the side, baring his throat.  
  
" _Chase_..." he groaned, unaware of how breathless his voice was.  
  
Hearing his name mewled like that, Chase growled. Jack's hands on his chest were spreading a tingling heat. The warlord bit and suckled, finding all of the oh-so-sensitive spots of the other man's long neck. And while he supported himself with one hand, the other one roved to Jack's side, along to the curve, down to the hip. "So this is what you wanted?" Chase asked. His voice had... an odd accent. But not one that belonged to any language that existed in the modern world.  
  
Jack struggled to focus on what Chase was saying. It was so difficult with the man's mouth and hand on him. But, he managed it, and licked dry lips before saying, "Kind of. Not... not all. But some of it, yeah. I... oh, gods... Chase, _please_..."  
  
"Please _what?_ " Chase's voice was husky low. His lips traveled downward, down to Jack's collar and then lower. He skirted the edges of all those deep chest wounds with butterfly kisses. He could taste the injury, as well as the metal-and-chemical hospital-room taint to the skin. His left hand slid from Jack's hip, long fingers trailing along the cleft of muscle that led down, down.  
  
Jack's brain, however, had short-circuited. His hands jerked and skittered up to clasp Chase's shoulders, and all he could do was shiver and shake and make growling, whimpery noises that held a tinge of keening. His body moved without conscious volition; arching up, trying to find Chase's body. His fingers clutched, released, stroked, clutched, and his senses were filled with Chase Young.  
  
The man followed Jack's motion. He had experience with this, after all. Nearly uncountable years of experience. When Jack arched up, Chase bowed down. He pressed their hips together, ground down against the other man with a low snarl of want. The sensation brought an ache with it, a heat that lay heavy between them.  
  
Jack tipped his head back into the mattress and let out a long, low cry of pleasure.  
  
The pain of his stitches beginning to unravel hardly even registered.  
  
All that mattered was the man atop him; the motion and the heat they were generating.  
  
For a brief moment, his mind and his tongue aligned, and Jack gasped and called out Chase's name again; his tone awestruck and adoring. He lolled his head forward again and forced his eyes open; searching for the features of the one man he'd loved for what seemed all of his life.  
  
Chase was fully aware of all the raw emotion, the raw _need_ and unashamed _love_ in those red eyes.  
  
But because of hyper-evolved reptilian senses, he was also aware of faint sounds of running coming from outside. He pushed Jack back gently and crouched over him. The man's long black hair fell around them like a tent.  
  
"Here." He pushed something heavy and cool into Jack's hand... the Serpent's Tail.  
  
Now, the man's expression was serious; somber. "You want too much from me.  You want too much _of_ me.  Damn you, Jack Spicer.”  A short, sharp kiss.  “I’ll decide if you take any part of me or not.  You’ll not see me alone until I’ve made that decision and, _boy_ , you _will_ grant me the right to make it!  I won’t be far, but I _will not_ be found until I want to be found. Do you understand?"  
  
The security lock on the door blipped. Before Jack could answer, Chase had growled something under his breath. The man's weight lifted from the bed and he seemed to blur at the edges, to sink into the shadows behind him.  
  
And then, he was gone completely.  
  
"Chase!" Jack shrieked, and struggled to sit up – only to fall back with a groan and a wet cough as his stitches tore further.  
  
The door crashed open and Omi raced inside, followed by the other monks and Jermaine, as well as the nurse on duty _and_ Jack's doctor.  
  
Chaos erupted as everyone tried to talk at once. However, Delia took control and bellowed for order as she ran over to check Jack's vitals. Growling, she turned and yelled at the nurse, "Get a gurney in here; he's gotta be sewn up again!"  
  
The nurse hurried out into the hall and Clay followed her to help.  
  
Omi leaped up onto the bed and squatted by Jack's head. He was about to speak when he saw something glint in Jack's hand. He reached out to touch it, gasped when he recognized the ‘Wu, and then turned his attention back to Jack.  
  
"He gave you the Serpent's Tail?" Omi asked, surprised.  
  
Jack clenched his jaw against pain and nodded slowly. "Yeah. He _teleported_ out of here. Said... said he wasn't going far, but... won't be found."  
  
Omi nodded and took the Serpent's Tail from Jack as the nurse and Clay arrived with the gurney.  
  
Jack was loaded onto the stretcher, but said, "Wait!" before he could be wheeled out.  
  
Delia opened her mouth to argue, but Jack held up his hand and looked back at Omi.  
  
The remorse in his gaze gave them all a bad feeling.  
  
And then: "Omi... I'm sorry. Chase said Guan is dead."  
  
Exhausted, hurting, Jack allowed himself to fall back limply onto the gurney with a long sigh.  
  
Delia and the nurse wheeled him out of the room.  
  
The three of them were almost to the emergency room when a shattering howl of anguish ripped down the hall after them.  
  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
  
The memorial ceremony held for Guan was poignant, and mostly silent. Those who had known him best – save one – stepped forward to speak a few words of praise for Guan; no one said a word at the tears on the Dragons’ faces. Those who had not known him well simply stepped forward to toss a single iris (the flower of faith, hope, wisdom, and valor) into the bonfire that had been lit in the central gathering place. Words of farewell and gratitude were spoken to Guan’s spirit, and then the gathering was over, and the Resistance Community began dispersing; talking quietly among themselves of various things.  
  
Jack wanted to stay with the Dragons; wanted to say what he could, do what he could, to help ease their grief. While he had come to know and like Guan, he hadn’t had the rapport with the older monk that the Dragons had. Thinking of that made Jack wonder how Chase was dealing with the loss of his long-ago friend.  
  
However, even though he wanted to stay, his strength was flagging. It had been three days since he’d had to be sewn up again. Jack was still sore and tired, and had been forced to attend the ceremony in a simple wooden wheelchair, with Syri as his attendant, while Luchia sat cuddled on his lap; her father nearby.  
  
Rai glanced over at him and gave him a watery smile. Reflexively, Jack tried to return it. He knew it appeared more as a grimace.  
  
“Go back to bed, Jack,” Rai said softly. “There’s nothing else to do, or can be done. Get some rest.”  
  
Jack sighed and nodded. “I wish I could do more.”  
  
“We know,” said Kimiko quietly. “That means a lot, Jack.”  
  
Clay nodded his agreement.  
  
Omi – wearing the mala beads that had mysteriously appeared even as a canister of Lao Mang Lone distillation had disappeared – turned and looked at Jack solemnly.  
  
“You must rest, Jack,” he said; his voice cracked and hoarse with grief. “We do not wish to lose another friend.”  
  
Luchia piped up with: “They know what they’re talkin’ about, Chief.”  
  
Jack snorted. “I know, ‘Chia. I just want to do more for ‘em.”  
  
Jermaine stepped forward, then, and collected his daughter. His face bore the evidence of recent tears. He offered a shaky grin to Jack as he said, “A big difference from the beginning, huh?”  
  
Jack laughed quietly. “Yeah, well… the more things change, and all that.”  
  
“Any changing that’s going to happen can wait,” said Syri, moving to grip the carved handles of the wheelchair. “You’re about to keel over, and I’m not lugging your fat butt from here to the east end of the base.”  
  
“Yeah, see – you’re going to lose the Florence Nightingale of the Year Award with _that_ attitude,” griped Jack.  
  
“I’d rather lose the award and keep my health,” she shot back.  
  
And then it was all quick farewells and promises from Luchia to come see Jack whenever she could. Soon after, Syri was rolling Jack away to the small apartment Jack claimed as his residence on the base. He’d only just been cleared to leave the hospital the day before by Delia, who had allowed it “only so long as you’re not planning on any more sexual gymnastics with a pissed off warlord before you’re fully healed!”  
  
Jack had blushed bright red, but he had promised he wasn’t about to engage in sex before he’d healed up, and had growled at the “yeah, right” look she’d given him.  
  
Now, as the wheelchair rolled smoothly along the walkways, Jack watched as people obligingly – sometimes deferentially – stepped aside. He recalled the days when he’d been young and naive and actively working towards a future where the planet bowed to him. He readily admitted that a part of him _liked_ it when people admired him almost to the point of obsequiousness. But somewhere along the way, that burning ambition to rule the world had been replaced by a burning ambition to get Chase back. Now that Chase _was_ back, Jack discovered that he was very, very tired.  
  
“Did you take the Lao Mang Lone out to him?” Jack asked as he was wheeled along the walkway.  
  
“Well, I took it out to the Forest,” Syri muttered. “I went out about a mile; never saw any tracks. But, I went out there. I called his name – he never showed up.”  
  
“That you could see, anyway,” Jack grumbled crankily.  
  
“You got _that_ right. I couldn’t see him – but I had that creepy feeling of being watched, if you know what I mean. It wasn’t Forest critters, either; that was the stare of intelligence and cunning on the back of my neck.”  
  
“So, what’d you do?”  
  
“Said I’d brought him a gift from _you_ , left it wedged up in the fork of a tree, and came back to Base. And before you ask, I checked there again this morning. I found the empty stolen canister in its place, along with this.” She handed Jack a small piece of paper that she’d been carrying in her pocket.  
  
Jack took it and recognized the paper as having come from the note he’d written out with instructions on how to use the hypo-spray. He gently touched the edge of the paper with its neatly ragged edge where Chase had torn the corner of the paper away from the larger piece. Written in small, tidy handwriting with a substance he didn’t recognize were two words: _Thank you_.  
  
He sighed. “Better than nothing, I guess.”  
  
“C’mon, Jack – from everything I’ve ever heard about him, including the stuff you told me, that was pretty big of him to even give you that much.”  
  
“Considering the man gave me hickeys that haven’t _yet_ faded, I’d hoped for something more.”  
  
Syri grinned and glanced down. If she angled her head just right, she could see the edge of one of those bruises on Jack’s neck.  
  
“All I can advise is ‘don’t push him’,” she said as they approached the door to his apartment. “Give him time to adjust; to make his _own_ choices about where he’s going to be and how he’s going to handle things. He’s had fifteen years of choice taken away from him. If you nag him now, he’s going to balk and you’re going to lose him before you even get him.”  
  
“Yes, Mother,” Jack warbled in a sing-song tone, and was rewarded with a slap to the back of his head. “Ow!”  
  
“Don’t even go there, you big baby.”  
  
Jack turned his head and stuck his tongue out, and then handed over his new securi-card to Syri so she could open the door. His old one had been left active, but it was now in Chase’s name. He’d included that little bit of info in his note that had gone with the Lao Mang Lone distillation and hypo-spray injector.  
  
The door was opened and Syri helped Jack inside. “Where to?” she asked as the door shut behind them.  
  
“Straight to bed,” Jack replied.  
  
“Now, Jack – you know what Delia said,” Syri teased.  
  
“Ha, ha. I’m _tired_ , Syri. I’d like to sleep lying down, at least.”  
  
Recognizing the truth of his words, she stopped teasing and helped him through the farthest doorway into his bedroom. There, she got him up, undressed him, and then eased him down into bed.  
  
Perching on the edge of the bed, she looked down at Jack while stroking his neon red-orange hair away from his face. When he looked up at her wearily, his exhaustion graying his skin and dulling his eyes, she smiled calmly and said, “This is the end, huh?”  
  
Jack winced. He really didn’t want to have this conversation.  
  
Syri chuckled lightly. “Relax, Spicer. You know better; this isn’t some big break-up of a romance.”  
  
He reached up and caught her hand and brought it to his mouth. He kissed her palm and then said, “Yeah… but I don’t want you to think…”  
  
“That I meant nothing? Hah. I know you liked being with me. But I’ve had my one big romance. That was enough for me. Now, it’s your turn.” Her smile went slightly brittle. “I hope yours lasts longer than mine did.”  
  
His own smile was fragile. “If there’s even anything there… I hope so, too.”  
  
The calm returned to Syri’s smile. “Jack, from the sounds of it, Chase Young is not the type of man to try having sex with somebody if he doesn’t want that somebody.”  
  
Jack smirked. “Yeah, okay – point for you. I’m just…”  
  
“Nervous. I understand. But remember what I said: Don’t nag him.”  
  
“Yeah, I got it.”  
  
“Good. ‘Cause I’d really hate to see you lose him.”  
  
She got up and walked for the door. She paused when she got there, and then looked back over her shoulder at him and winked.  
  
“I kind of envy you, y’know,” she said teasingly. “That Chase Young sure is fine.”  
  
“For fuck’s sake…” Jack muttered, and threw his pillow at her. “Get out of here, you horny wench!”  
  
She flung his pillow back at him, laughing when it whumped into his face and his spate of cussing was muffled.  
  
“Night, Jack – sweet dreams,” she called out, and pulled his bedroom door shut.  
  
Jack listened and heard the outer door blip open and then thunk closed. Sighing, he tucked the pillow behind his head again. He stretched carefully and then pulled the thermal blanket up to his chin.  
  
“Goodnight, Chase – wherever you are,” he muttered, and closed his eyes.  
  
He never saw a shadow appear on his wall as the figure crouched outside his small bedroom window shifted to look in on him briefly before disappearing into the dark wilds of the Forest once more.  
  
  
*~*~*~*

 

 

The Forest of Neither Here Nor There, the last safe place on Earth, exists on many different levels. This wasn't the first time Chase had ventured into it, and into the darkest reaches – the dark heart of the vines and the trees, the living glade at the center of the jungle.  
  
It was so much older than he was. Older than the land, older than the sky, it seemed. As if it had existed since time immemorial, though perhaps not always in this form. The Forest was alive and breathing; Chase could feel a thrum like a life pulse all around him as he walked through its center. It was alive the way a god, a true god, was alive. The way China was alive. The way the world was alive.  
  
That was it, really.  
  
Chase Young was standing in the heart of the heart... The heart of the Forest, the soul of the world.  
  
"Last time I came, I was not welcomed," Chase says. The words are a purr on his lips, a rumble that is barely audible. He feels the answer in his mind, his bones and blood. That this time, he is welcome.  Now, everything has changed.  
  
 _He_ has changed. He has become the last remaining piece of the ancient world, the only true old power left alive. Save, of course, for Hannibal Bean. Save for The Enemy. His one true Enemy. For Chase, nothing has ever been so simple as good or evil. Not truly. He is the gray space between them, the honorable evil... the righteous and wicked at once, a noble spirit and a missing soul; as much a man as a demonic dragon.  
  
The forest speaks. It winds around him and through him, and he stands with his head bowed, listening to each word.  
  
 _You are here, now?_  
  
A pause. "I am."  
  
It's like the breeze is moving, but everything has gone still. It's a breeze of a different kind, a pull along the astral plane, something that no one could ever hope to understand no matter how long they lived for.  
  
It makes one thing clear: _You are to protect._  
  
"...What if I refuse?"  
  
 _You are to protect._  
  
All at once, it's given to him: A kind of understanding, a kind of new fire, a kind of responsibility. Power, too, but that does not mean what it once would have. Not now at the end of everything, the end of his old world and the beginning of a new one.  
  
Chase takes a deep breath. He's never been one to back down from a challenge.  
  
This is where they are now.

**Author's Note:**

> Neither myself nor the other author of this fic, Zanderkatt, own Xiaolin Showdown or anything affiliated with it. We made no money off of this fic and we continue to make no money off of this fic.


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